


All That They Had Not Lost

by Quizzical



Series: All That They Had Not Lost [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Other, Threesome - F/M/M, trio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-29
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 22:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quizzical/pseuds/Quizzical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rest of the world had ceased to exist outside of their circle. Outside of their search. That would they do now they had found what they had been looking for, and it was all destroyed? So much had been lost in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written before Deathly Hallows and originally posted at The Quidditch Pitch 2007-2009
> 
> Thank you to Leviathan for the babysitting and cheer leading, and to shocfix for the early read through and valuable suggestions.
> 
> Thank you Thevina and Brumeux for your Beta work and to mapleandmahogany for your constant support.

It seemed it had only ever been the three of them. He had lost count of how long they had been together. Was it years or months? Was it lifetimes? Only the three of them- even when there were others around.

 

The rest of the world had ceased to exist outside of their circle. Outside of their search. What would they do now they had found what they had been looking for, and it was all destroyed? So much had been lost in the process.

 

Just a little more waiting until they received the sign from the others that it was safe to come out of hiding. They hated cowering at Grimmauld Place.

 

Only a few more rogue Death Eaters to round up. A few politicians to placate.

 

Just as well they had to wait. Harry knew that Ron and Hermione believed he wasn’t ready to face anyone just yet. He probably agreed with them.

 

Harry tried to send his mind back to the time before. Before Ginny had died. Before a dying Voldemort had made one last desperate attempt at immortality, grasping the soul link through Harry’s scar. Before he’d started to lose his tenuous grip on sanity. Before the pain.

 

Voldemort’s attempt hadn’t worked and the Dark Lord had perished, but not before wrenching a small piece of Harry’s soul to take with him, leaving a ragged edge, bleeding life, as his newly opened scar did likewise. Everything inside him seemed to ache.

 

Breathing…moving... thinking.... Even his hair seemed painful.

 

They had drawn him back. And sometimes he hated them for it. As he felt himself slip back into the universe that was his grief and pain, he felt the hand stroking his hair. He felt the whisper on his skin as they brought him back again.

 

Together.

 

His mind steadied onto a point in time. To the first time.

 

***

 

He knew they needed to be with each other, but it just wasn’t fair. He had lost his consolation. They still had each other.

 

His loneliness warred with his gratitude. Where could he go to give them some room? Where could they go to not feel guilty about leaving him out? Deep inside, underneath his ever-present guilt, he depended on their devotion to him and loved them back for it.

 

Never could someone have friends such as these.

 

He knew they watched him as he slept. He knew that Ron hadn’t really slept in months. He knew that Hermione’s eyes were on him as she brewed potions and muttered incantations. He knew they thought he was too thin, and too quiet, and too....far away.

 

He knew that they both watched him when he started to get lost inside his search for a memory. When the pain would rise up and overshadow his awareness of the world around him.

 

And he knew that the only thing keeping them strong for him was each other.

 

He couldn’t take away any chance for them to enjoy a respite. So what drew him to the door to watch them? He felt like a child spying on his parents. Feeling safer because they loved each other.

 

And like a child, he blushed when he noticed that they had seen him.

 

Like a child he shuffled forward as Hermione had opened her arms to him. He had crept in under the blankets and allowed them to enfold him in their love. And when the pain had come again, and he was swept away from reality, he knew that Ron had held them both in his arms as Hermione had drawn him into herself and eased his despair away.

 

As she had allowed him to feel again. To be connected to the body he had been walking around in.

 

To receive in a way he had never had the opportunity to do. Not as a small boy, locked away under the stairs. Not as a growing lad thrown into communal living when he was used to isolation. Not as a teenager with the object of his love cruelly taken from his arms.

 

When had Ron learned to be so tender? When had his emotional range expanded from a teaspoon to an ocean? It was a father’s love that smoothed his hair and massaged the aching scar and a friend’s devotion that stroked long calming lines down his body until he was too lost in the moment to know who was touching what. To only know that he was still alive.

 

***

 

He heard them whispering, and tried to walk away. Find somewhere to not be intruding.

 

"We are going to have to talk about it, Ron!" Hermione hissed.

 

He stood, frozen - listening despite himself. _I’m pathetic,_ he thought.

 

"Why?" sighed Ron wearily. "Can’t we just let it be? It is what it is. We are both okay with it. Don’t make it more complicated than it is already."

 

"But it _is_ complicated!"

 

"No. It’s simple. We’ll do whatever it takes. We’ll give whatever we have. I know that. You know that. And I think Harry knows that."

 

 _Funny how to Ron it really was that simple_ , thought Harry.

 

There was a pause. Harry heard a muffled sniff.

 

"Come here," said Hermione more gently. "Are you sure you don’t mind? Are you sure we can make it work?"

 

"I’m sure." Ron sighed again deeply. "So sure. Except for one thing."

 

"What is it?"

 

"Babies."

 

Silence.

 

"I don’t know if I could handle you having his baby."

 

A chair scraped gently.

 

"I won’t."

 

"How can you say that? How do you know?… You wouldn’t…!"

 

"No, Ron. I wouldn't!" Hermione drew a deep breath. "…Ron…"

 

Her voice sounded so small. Harry found himself straining to hear the next husky phrase.

 

"It’s a bit late to be worrying about that...really. There’s... there's already one there. I… I didn’t know how to tell you… I thought you’d be cross…"

 

"Cross!"

 

"Shh! Well, frightened…"

 

Somehow, Harry knew that Ron was smiling.

 

***

 

 _A green light. A high cold laugh. A young woman’s face framed by red hair. Blinding pain making him gasp and clutch at his head. It was his own thin, white hand raising the wand. His own sneering lips speaking the deadly spell. His own red eyes that saw the woman fall to the floor. He saw his mother’s face and then the features blurred and changed. GINNY! NO!_

 

A hand reached out in the dark and steadied his flailing arm that was grasping for his wand.

 

"Alright Harry. Shhh. Hush mate. It’s okay. You’re okay."

 

The slow smooth strokes down his back helped to steady him again. He knew it was Ron stroking him. Like he was a baby. Or a cat.

 

 _Why doesn’t this feel weird?_ Harry thought for the umpteenth time.

 

They'd had The Conversation.

 

It had been excruciating in the light of day to put words to what happened silently in the dark. Night after night. But at least they could all look each other in the eye again. They had both been right of course.

 

It was complicated. And it was simple.

 

He reached for Hermione. The bed was empty there. A panic started in the pit of his stomach. He sat up, head pounding in the aftermath of the dream. The gentle hand pulled him down again.

 

"Shhh. Hush, mate. It’s okay. You’re okay."

 

"Hermione… where is she? Is she alright? Is she dead?"

 

A blurry haze appeared above him in the dark.

 

Ron chuckled softly. "No, Harry. She’s here. She’s alive. Just… She’s not feeling too well. I sent her into the other room to get some more sleep. I said I’d… Uhhhh… watch you."

 

"I’m not a bloody T.V."

 

"I know mate."

 

"And I’m not a baby, either. What are you going to do when there’s a real baby to look after?"

 

"Don’t be stupid. I don’t think you’re a bloody baby. I just… You’re my best mate. We… I love you. You need us."

 

The large warm hand inched over his waist, and began tracing circles on his stomach. Soothing. Lightly the circles increased, further, broader.

 

"Do you want me to… I can…"

 

"You must hate me. For what we’re doing…"

 

"No! Don’t start that again. I don’t. Not from the first time. Not now. I’m just happy it helps you. And so is Hermione. And it’s not pity." Halting his protest. "It's love."

 

Love. It’s what saved him.

 

 _Who’d have guessed how that would work, huh?_

 

Suddenly tears started to leak out of the side of his eyes and make tracks down into puddles in his ears. Relentlessly he clamped down on them. He hadn’t cried yet. He wasn’t going to start now. Turn into a blithering git on top of everything else…

 

He drew a deep shuddering breath. The hand stilled. And then he heard a low groan next to him. Harry felt on the table for his glasses and put them on.

 

Oh God. Ron was crying.

 

Ron.

 

Crying.

 

Confusion rose in his thoughts. Had Ron been lying? Had he been suffering in silence all this time?

 

"I’m so sorry mate. What I’ve put you through."

 

"No," gulped Ron. "I’m just so glad you’re okay. After everything else that happened, I thought… I thought we’d lost you, too. But you’re going to be okay. I’m just… So glad… You’re all right."

 

A light broke through into Harry’s heart like the sun shines through a crack in the curtains and warms the room with morning light.

 

Life.

 

Returning slowly to his bruised and battered soul.

 

And suddenly he knew.

 

He was here. He was alive. He was going to be okay.

 

Soon he would be ready, _they_ would be ready to face the world again. The new world they had helped to create.

 

He turned slowly to the long, gentle man next to him. The friend who had given everything he had to give. Even the woman he loved. He gathered him close, cradling his face to his chest, rocking gently and stroking his back with long, smooth strokes. It was his turn to offer the comfort of a loving touch.

 

After a little while another body eased itself gently down on Ron’s other side. A little awkwardly manoeuvring so that the slight swell of her stomach rested in the small of his back. Harry felt long thin fingers cup his cheek.

 

Soon they would face the world. But for now they lay together. And they cried together. Over all that they had lost.

 

And over all that they had not lost.

  


  


  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

  


This story archived at <http://www.thequidditchpitch.org/viewstory.php?sid=3456>  



	2. Get Over It

~*~

When they found out Hermione was pregnant again, Harry went missing for three days. 

 

They finally tracked him down at the Leaky Cauldron, hidden away in a private room. He didn’t look up as they came in. Ron flicked his wand at the door to lock it and strode over, shrugging out of his thick winter cloak, and flung himself into the armchair near the fire. Hermione remained at the door. 

 

No one spoke for several minutes.

 

The previous time had ended in a miscarriage, the pregnancy over before Hermione had even realized it had begun. Then, as now, Harry's first instinct had been to run, but this desire had been overshadowed by concern for his friends. Ron and Hermione had seemed shaken by this new brush with death, drawing closer to their small daughter for comfort. For a while afterwards, Harry had drifted off on his own.

 

“Go away.”

 

Ron rolled his eyes as he looked over at his wife. She was trying to look calm, but he could see the hurt in her eyes. _Bloody Harry. He doesn’t do this to her again,_ thought Ron viciously.

 

“No,” he said, glaring over at the man who was closer to him than any brother.

 

Harry could never resist the draw of their friendship. The long weekend afternoons spent listening to Quidditch on the wireless; lazy mornings around the kitchen table, with Weasley-sized helpings of eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes....

 

“Go. Away.”

 

“Come on, Harry. Let’s not play this game again. We’re all a bit past it, yeah?”

 

“What game?!” It was Harry’s turn to glare.

 

Ron sighed and rolled his eyes again. He lifted his feet and plonked them on the couch Harry was lying on. He ignored how vulnerable Harry looked. He ignored the urge to coax him out of his sulk.

 

“The one where you panic and come to the conclusion this has all been a horrid mistake, then you try and leave ‘ _for our own good’_ and then we convince you that actually we’re quite fond of you and would rather you stay, and then you pout for a while before deciding we’re right. Let’s just skip to the end, all right?”

 

“Does that mean we skip the bit where you freak out about if your brothers find out? Or moan about the papers coming after me when we set foot outside the door?” Harry countered harshly.

 

Harry found the nights spent alone bleak after growing accustomed to the warmth of two bodies folded around him. Feeling familiar hands stroking the pain away, hearing beloved voices filling his ears with whispers of devotion.

 

He watched Hermione shifted her weight to the other foot.

 

“Come and sit down, Hermione. You should rest.” Ron’s voice took on a gentle tone as he beckoned her over.

 

“I’m fine, Ron.”

 

Harry shifted uncomfortably on the couch, willing himself not to turn and look at her. Silence fell once more.

 

By day, he was the third wheel. The best friend. The single, tragic best friend. He was always invited to the Burrow, where he would sit, alone, in a threadbare armchair, trying not to resent the sight of Ron and Hermione snuggled so carelessly together on the couch.

 

“Ron, could you give us a minute?”

 

Ron sat forward and stared at Hermione for a few moments before flicking his long red hair out of his eyes and nodding curtly. He leaned over Harry as he stood. “Don’t you upset her any more, mate, or I’ll hex your bits off!”

 

Harry glared at him before turning away again.

 

Ron touched Hermione’s shoulder gently as he passed her and shut the door behind him.

 

Harry was fairly good at brooding, but the silence seemed too thick even for him. He rolled over just as Hermione approached and sat on the floor near his head, her back leaning up against the couch. She felt him flinch away slightly as her hair tickled his nose.

 

She wanted desperately to lie down and snuggle into his arms and make him promise he was coming back, but she knew Harry. He was skittish and shy when overwhelmed with his emotions and she didn’t want to frighten him off. So much was at stake here today. So much hung in the balance. It wasn’t like the other times- this time could really be the end.

 

“Hermione. Please don’t lecture me. I just can’t do this anymore. It’s better for all of us if….”

 

Her strangled _humpf_ stopped him in mid-sentence.

 

“So, what is it that frightens you the most?”

 

There was a brittleness in her voice.

 

“Wha- what do you mean?”

 

“What frightens you the most, Harry - if the baby is yours, or if it’s not?”

 

Hermione heard Harry swallow.

 

“Or if the baby loves and needs you, or if it doesn't?”

 

She could hear his breathing become faster, shallower.

 

“Or if Ron and I decide we’ll survive without you, or if you realize we’re here for the long haul?”

 

Harry seemed unable to speak, unable to reply.

 

“Or… if everyone finds out about us... Or if we have to keep it a secret forever…”

 

“I-- I don’t know …" His strangled voice was a mere thread of a whisper. “All of it… how did you know?”

 

“Oh Harry!” Hermione twisted around to face him. “How could I have known you and loved you for so long and not known that?"

 

She gently touched his arm. He froze for a second, as she had known he would, before moving his arm, inviting Hermione onto the couch. She stretched out on her side, her back to him and stared at the portrait on the far wall. The old witch in the painting seemed to be taking quite an interest in the conversation, but looked away when she noticed Hermione's gaze.

 

Hermione wriggled a little. Her hair was caught slightly on her neck, pulling against her scalp. She lifted her head and Harry reached over to release the long strands, before she lowered it back down near his shoulder. There was plenty of room for them both on the large couch. _I wouldn't fit here with Ron. I'd fall off the edge._ Hermione knew not to snuggle yet, not to get too close too soon.

 

"I won't bite, you know." he huffed.

 

It was such a difficult line to walk. Harry had so many buttons to avoid. It was hard not to cause him to shut down without being caught deferring to his emotional stutter. And he hated that she always made way for Harry's greater claim on Ron's time and affections. He wanted it to end. That was what he'd shouted as he'd stormed from the house three days earlier: That they had to stop putting him before their marriage.

 

“Hermione… I know I’m infuriating. Why should you keep up all this hard work? You have the children to worry about now, you don’t need a high-maintenance, temperamental third wheel complicating your life.”

 

“Harry, you are necessary to us. I mean, we can function without you, but we’re not complete. Not anymore. Since we have been Three. I have always imagined that together we made up a whole person. I was the mind, Ron, the flesh, the strength, and you were the heart. That was how it worked when we fought together, and that was how it worked when you defeated Voldemort. Why can’t it work like that now we have a life to live?"

 

She paused, hesitating for a moment before continuing, "I wondered for a while if you would want a life at all after -- after Ginny.”

 

Harry sucked in a breath at the unexpected mention of her name.

 

“You were so lost for so long. And then when we brought you back and I thought you were alive again, but it’s as if you’re still only half alive. Like it didn’t mean enough. As if WE don’t mean enough.”

 

Hermione waited for an answer, but he seemed frozen, and there was no reply.

 

Hermione continued, “You're not _in love_ with me, Harry. I know I’m not Ginny. I’ll never dazzle you like she did. I’ll never be as playful and gorgeous as she was. But I miss her too. I’ll understand if you want to wait to find someone more like her, but…”

 

Finally her words appeared to energize him.

 

“No! There can never be anyone else like her! Never. But I’ve never expected you to be her. I haven’t wanted you to be. You’re you and you’re brilliant, Hermione. You don’t need to be anyone else.”

 

“I’m not looking for sympathy here! I know what I am, and what I’m not. I have brown hair and thick thighs and small breasts. Soon there’ll be more stretch marks to join the collection. And I don’t light up a room when I walk into it. But that’s all right. I know that I love passionately, and I care. And I’m not thinking I’m awful, just... nothing extraordinary, or--”

 

“Hermione!” interrupted Harry. “It’s true that you’re not Ginny. And she was extraordinary. But so are you. I haven’t been comparing you all this time. You haven’t come up short to anything! I have missed her so much I thought I should die, but it’s not because you lack anything. You’re amazing. You know how much you have always meant to me. You and Ron. Surely you do. Of course I lo.. love you. Both. And I… well… I love your body. You're beautiful. And I love it because it’s a part of you! You’ve given me so much. That’s what I see when I see you. But that’s not the issue. The issue is if YOU need ME here.”

 

“I’ve already addressed that _issue_ , Harry. I don’t know what else to say, particularly since you don’t seem to have believed me.” Hermione crossed her arms across her chest, feeling her heart thudding up against her forearms.

 

“But Hermione, what about… well... The kids…. What are you going to tell them? It’s going to be hard enough for them already. Everyone will know who they are. I can’t inflict myself on their futures.”

 

Suddenly Hermione lost her patience. She sat up and turned to face him. His eyes were wide behind his glasses.

 

“Don’t you DARE, Harry Potter. Don’t you dare make that decision for this baby. What about your parents? They would have given anything to still be alive, and you spent your life longing for them. Would you really do that to a child?”

 

“B-- but they’ll have you and Ron. It’s not as if they’ll be off with the Dursleys! And… and... the baby’s probably not mine anyway! And Little Charlie will get used to me being gone. She has her Mum and Dad. I could just keep on being a kind of uncle. Perhaps even a godfather. Like Sirius...... or something…”

 

Hermione went pale and pointed her finger at his chest. Her eyes were snapping along with her words. Harry swallowed. This Hermione was usually directed towards Ron. He didn’t know if he liked being the focus of her fury.

 

“Get it into your thick head, Harry. We WANT you. Charlotte loves you and would be devastated without you. Who cares if you’re not her _father_! Who cares what the rest of the world thinks? And what about Ron? Would you really just turn your back on his devotion to you all these years? He’s loved you since you were boys, and stuck by you and put up with a hell of a lot for being your friend. Honestly Harry, I think you would be breaking his heart the most and I’m telling you now, that would just NOT be fair!”

 

Hermione’s chest was heaving with emotion. She opened her mouth to speak again, but suddenly stopped, her hand clamping over her mouth. “Bugger,” she moaned as she raced over to the sink in the corner to vomit.

 

Harry sprang to his feet to support her and hold her hair as she retched, scooping it into a loose bunch. She drew a few shuddering breaths.

 

The door handle rattled and Harry looked over his shoulder to see Ron poke his head around the door. Ron's eyes darted around the room from the empty couch before he saw them in the corner. A grin twitched at his lips, despite his concerned expression. They both knew that there was nothing Hermione hated as much as vomiting.

 

“All right there, sweetheart?”

 

Hermione’s words echoed in Harry’s mind as he watched Ron stroll across the room towards them. He wanted them both desperately. He longed for the comfort Hermione offered. He craved the closeness he felt with Ron. But Ron wasn't just Harry Potter's friend now. He was a husband and a father. Harry knew he had to let him go....

 

“Harry, please think about it. If I’m not enough for you, or if you’re not ready to commit to us because of me, then….”

“What’s this? Hermione, I won’t have you saying these things about yourself!” interrupted Ron. “I’ve never known anyone as fantastic as you.”

“I know, Ron. I was just making a point to Harry.”

 

“Well don’t. This is why it’s so crap to be having this conversation!”

 

“Ron, this conversation _is_ necessary,” insisted Hermione. “And I’m not finished yet! Harry, I have sometimes wondered if what the three of us have shared together was-- was like we were all making up for Ginny being gone. You have the Weasley devotion in Ron, and I’m talking apart from the fact that he was the first person to ever love you for yourself. I was the feminine side. And Ron, I know that being with Harry was a bit of a link to her. I know how much you miss her. But you would miss Harry for himself too. You have to admit that to yourself. He was your first love. I _know_ you two were never intimate or anything like that before, but you have always had a special bond, and our relationship is an opportunity to explore that further. To acknowledge it.”

 

“Have you said the one about us as a whole person? And have you used my one yet, Hermione? About how you’re the Chaser - always after the truth, I’m the Beater - because…. well I am, and Harry’s the Keeper always guarding his fucking heart in case anyone actually gets in?” Ron’s raised an eyebrow, casting a smug look at Harry. “That was pretty good, don’t you think?”

 

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head, a tiny, wry smile tugging at his lips. It slipped off his face as he opened his eyes and looked at Ron.

 

“What about you not wanting her to have my baby?” Harry’s voice was small in the large room.

 

“What?”

 

“I heard you talking. Years ago. You said you could handle anything but that.”

 

Ron was silent for a moment, feeling the heat creep up his neck, towards his face.

“Wow, Harry. That was ages ago. That was before there was any ‘us’ for our own sake, you know? That was when you were, like, right on the edge. And Hermione and I were so new together. We hadn’t even told many people we had got married. I was trying to work it all out. We had been with you a couple of times, and I was confused as to why I was okay with it. I was trying to convince myself it wasn’t what I wanted.”

Ron felt his frustration rising. This had gone on long enough. They had been here too often. As much as he needed Harry, as much as he needed them, something had to change.

 

“Listen here, Harry. I don’t know about all this stuff Hermione is saying about Gin', but she’s getting too upset to continue. This is what it comes down to. If you really want to go, I won’t stop you. If Hermione wanted to end it, I wouldn’t stop her either. Blood bonds and vows be damned. I mean I’d be upset and all, but I’d never make her stay against her will. But none of this rubbish where you go because you think it’s _for the best._ Go if you want to, or stay if you want to, but don’t leave if you want to stay, because that’s just totally fucked up and we’ll all be upset. Work out what you want, mate, even if it’s a risk, and then act on that. If you want us, you’re going to have to choose us. Once and for all.”

 

He took a shuddering breath to calm his voice down.

 

“We’re going now. Hermione needs a rest. I’m making supper tonight at eight. Be there if you want to be, but if you don’t come, we’ll know you‘ve made your choice." Ron stood looming over them, glaring down at Harry.

 

"You'd better bloody make it the right one, because I’m not going to do this again. Right?”

 

Ron took Hermione’s hands and hauled her to her feet. Harry sat up and swung his feet around to the floor. Hermione’s face was stricken as she threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Harry,” was all she could say.

  


  


  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

  


This story archived at <http://www.thequidditchpitch.org/viewstory.php?sid=3456>  



	3. The Chosen Ones

The very first time Harry had disappeared was after he made love to Hermione.

It had been his first time - the first time he was aware of what he was doing anyway. He had woken from a fitful sleep, full of heaviness and grief. Hermione had spoken in the darkness. "It's all right, Harry. We're here." Ron lay sleeping next to them. Trusting him. Letting him reach out for his wife, to find comfort, just because it felt so good to be held. To feel want, need. To feel anything at all.

It had shaken him to look over, and see Ron's eyes on him, accepting what he saw. To watch Ron and Hermione clasp hands as she drew his climax from him, and rode out her own.

He felt like he was cheating on Ginny. Using Hermione. Betraying Ron. All that guilt. As if it hadn't been enough to be claimed by Ron's family, gaining mother, father, brothers-- a home. Now he was taking his wife, and Ron had smiled, held her hand as if he was the one being given a gift.

Harry knew it was a ridiculous thing to do. Run off like a child. Hide out, not knowing if he wanted to be found or not. He hated how vulnerable it made him feel, to need them like this. He hated how confusing it was to feel as though they needed him, all evidence to the contrary.

What was it about this situation that made it just so hard to grasp?

He was used to taking risks. Used to being whispered about.

But he wasn't used to being offered what he actually wanted. Not when it was just so hard to even know _what_ it was that he wanted in the first place.

He adapted to situations thrown at him, but didn't know how to choose _for_ something.

He had been picked out and marked as ‘the Chosen One' when he was just a baby. But being the one to make the choice?

How much more so with love and happiness? What was love? And what was being 'in love'? And as for sex - touches were blows to be parried. Moves to be blocked. What to do if you actually were to find something great and then step forward to _take_ it!

To welcome touch. To ask for more?

And a baby... Maybe his? A real family, not just a borrowed one. Harry's stomach flipped over at the very thought. Could he walk away from that possibility?

More importantly, could he walk towards it?

The last time he'd run away was after a particularly vicious nightmare. He'd eventually fought back the tide of darkness and despair, drawn back by the sensations he had felt flooding through his body. A feeling of quiet joy sending tendrils around his awareness. He'd sensed love surrounding him and filling him. Hermione's voice murmuring in his ear as he slowly built toward his release. Then he'd felt her hands stroking his chest and the peace was shoved aside by the realization that the hand moving firmer and faster around him did not belong to Hermione, but Ron. And it felt fantastic. He had come suddenly all over his best mate's hand, before gasping a hurried apology and pulling on his robes. He'd grabbed his wand and glasses with one hand and, clutching his clothes in a bundle, Apparated away.

They hadn't seen him for a month after that particular night. Even then, it took a long time for him to do more than pop in unexpectedly during the afternoon, leave just as abruptly, or stay and have a quick meal.

Hermione worried about him. Ron sulked. But, though he had tried to distance himself from the new family, he worshipped the baby, and she had returned the favour. He could never stay away for long.

And now, just as things were relaxed again, this had to happen. _Bloody typical really_.

Harry knew what the problem was.

He just didn't know if he had what it took to be happy.

~*~

Hermione really did try not to worry. When she did, Ron would just roll his eyes at her, and pretend that he wasn't lying awake at night, thinking about ways to protect Harry from himself, and Harry would frown and grow even quieter, and then leave early before they could settle in for the evening. Or the night. The nightmares and horrid turns he'd been having seemed to have stopped, and Harry was now functioning, living in a little flat over the Apothecary in Diagon Alley. Ron had been there a few times, but usually Harry came to them.

He'd told them it was fun 'pretending to be a grown up', having a space to call his own for the first time. It was really just a glorified bed sitter, but Harry seemed content enough, surrounded by Hogwarts memorabilia, old brooms stuck on the randomly placed nails on the walls, and photos of his parents and dead school friends sticking out of window frames.

He said he didn't want any curtains, because he loved to lie with the sun shining on his face as it rose in the mornings.

The flat was small, but nothing at all like a cupboard.

One day, Hermione and the baby had stopped by after running some errands in Diagon Alley. They did this from time to time, but it was getting increasingly difficult as the baby was now becoming a toddler, and found much to entice her off Mummy's hip and on to the floor. Hermione would get frazzled as she chased her around, pulling soggy photos out of her drooling mouth and picking up the remains of meals left to fester on the floor near the pile of cushions Harry referred to as 'the lounge'.

On that particular day, the little girl had been asleep, and Hermione had wanted to take the opportunity to sit down and have a jolly good chat with Harry. Ron missed him, she knew, and were she was honest with herself, so was she. It seemed the right thing to do, to concentrate on their own little family, now they had the baby- but apparently Harry had taken this as a sign to ignore them completely! She had brushed aside the thought that something was missing from their perfect little life, and had concentrated on how best to explain to Harry the error of his ways. If he'd felt guilty for the things they had shared in the past, they would just have to remind him that it was different now. They could all go back to being just friends. The best friends ever.

Walking through the door, she had been horrified to see one of her best friends ever on the floor near the fireplace, curled up in a tight ball with his hands clenched together over his head. The snitch box that served as a Floo powder pot was broken on the hearth, and the green dust had been spread around where he'd evidently thrashed about. The photo of herself on the mantlepiece was wringing her hands and peering down and then up at Hermione, shouting advice that couldn't be heard.

Hermione had reached into her voluminous shoulder bag and grasped some of her emergency Floo powder supply before conjuring a quick flame to cast it into and yelling with all her might "The Burrow! Ron, HELP!"

That had been quite a scare, and it had taken them a long time to revive him, after Ron had hauled him over to the lounge and they had reached out with all their love and all their magic.

The attacks had receded once again, and a loose sort of pattern emerged of time spent together and apart. Times of love shared, and times where nothing more than hands were held. And so they drew him back again.

 

~*~

Ron was overseeing the knives cutting veggies for a stir-fry. His mind wasn't on the task at hand though. He was remembering other times of waiting for Harry. Other times when he disappeared and they waited to see if he would come back. Somehow he knew this was different. This was make or break, and he didn't think he could stand it.

The three would stay friends, of course. That could absolutely never change. Ever. The mere idea of losing Harry made Ron's stomach clench painfully. If he didn't come home tonight... what would be left?

Ron looked out the window over the sink, and watched a cloud cover the face of the moon. It was still a good week off full. Remus would be comfortable tonight. Ron wondered if the older man suspected what was happening between the three of them. He always asked Hermione how Harry was.

There was a knock at the door. Hermione and Ron stared at each other as the knives ceased chopping and clattered to the bench. Hermione's hands went to her mouth. They turned to see the door open as a shivering Harry stepped hesitantly into the warmth of the familiar kitchen.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

Then everything seemed to be in slow motion. Harry looked at Hermione, sitting with her feet tucked up underneath her on the hard wooden chair. He seemed to be asking her permission for something. She nodded, pressing her fingers more firmly against her lips. And then he was one step away from Ron.

Ron stared as if he daren't believe it. And slowly, ever so slowly, Harry's hand, still cold from the snow outside, reached out to take his.

Ron stared at their hands gripped so tightly their knuckles showed white. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. And before he realized what was happening, Harry had pulled him into a rough hug.

All they could hear was the sound of Hermione sniffling.

"You chose us?"

"I chose you...both... Ron... I... I choose you."

A chair scraped, and there was a flurry of footsteps and then Hermione's arms wrapped around their waists and they were embracing all together.

A little voice floated down the hall.

"Harry... Harry? Is that you?"

"I thought she was asleep."

"Harry?"

"I'll go say ‘Hello'. Back in a sec." Harry stepped down the hall to her room. "Hi, Charles."

Little Charlie gave a giggle. She loved it when he called her that. _"It's so much better than Charlotte, Harry. I wish it was my real name."_

"Hullo, Harold."

"Crookshanks," Harry nodded in greeting towards the old cat, who stretched out his long legs before settling back down near Little Charlie's feet.

Harry lay down on top of the quilt next to the little girl, carefully moving her long ginger curls out of his way.

"Missed you."

"Missed you more." He felt a little hand snake into his. How could he have imagined he could walk away from this?

A soft sigh ghosted across his cheek. He turned his head to see two wide brown eyes inspecting him closely.

"It's better when you're home."

Home.

"Is it? Why's that?"

"Well. Mum and Daddy smile."

He felt a lump in his throat at her words.

"What do you mean?" he croaked. He cleared his throat and continued, "They always smile heaps."

"Well." Harry smirked despite himself. She started most sentences with that word. "They laugh, which is good, and they have those big happy smiles. That's good too. But when you're home, they have those nice quiet smiles. Those are my favourite smiles."

The lump grew bigger.

"Wow. I didn't know that."

"Well of course you didn't. Because you can't see what happens when you're not here, can you?"

"I suppose not."

"Will you still be here tomorrow if I go to sleep now?"

"Sure Charles. I'll be here tomorrow. Go to sleep, sweetheart."

They squeezed hands and then Little Charlie rolled away from him on to her side, and snuggled into her pillow. Crookshanks stretched his tired old bones and settled back down to watch over the sleeping child.

 

~*~

Back in the kitchen Hermione was sitting on Ron's lap at the small wooden table. Ron smiled at him through the cloud of Hermione's hair.

Harry felt a wave of peace wash over him. This was where he should be.

"We should talk."

Ron's eyes widened in surprise. "Geez, Hermione. He beat you to it! Isn't that your line?"

Hermione punched him gently in the arm.

"What do you want to talk about, Harry?"

"Alright, well firstly..." Harry swallowed, trying to find the courage to broach the topic that had occupied his afternoon. "Let's buy a house."

Hermione nearly tumbled onto the floor as Ron started to rise to his feet. She pushed him back down onto his chair, turning to face Harry.

"Oh..." Hermione blinked. "Harry... Goodness. That's-- an awfully big step, don't you think?"

"Oh, but choosing to be together long term and having a baby is just minor business, huh?" He grinned to take the sting out of the words.

"No! Of course not," Hermione tutted. "It's just that, well, we're not in the position financially to do something like that right now. In the future, of course!"

"Yes, we are."

"I'm not taking your bloody money, Potter. You know that!"

"It's not just my money, Ron."

"What do you mean, Harry?" asked Hermione.

Harry took two little keys from his pocket and placed them on the table in front of them. In front of his best friends. His family.

Now, more than ever, they were his family.

Hermione tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrows in question, as Ron blurted out, "What the bloody hell are _they_ for?"

"I went to Gringotts' after you left. I got your names put on the vault. They're your keys."

Ron started to splutter and Hermione gasped.

"So, did you mean it or not? Are we in this together?"

He waited now. Ron's pride was so prickly. But he knew this was a make-or-break issue. If it wasn't sorted now, it would just come back another time.

It didn't matter how often he stayed there, or how much of their food he ate, Ron wouldn't take a knut from him. He bought gifts from time to time, and with Hermione's cooperation had secretly helped Ron's parents buy him a new broom. It had always bothered him.

"I've wanted to do this since second year, Ron. The number of times I wanted to just say to you, and to your Mum and Dad, ‘Here, take it. It's yours.' But I knew they wouldn't do that, and you're worse than the lot of them. This is the only thing I have to offer and I _want_ it to be for all of us. Hermione, I know you have your consulting work. It's perfect hours for you with the baby coming and schooling Little Charlie and everything. Ron, you've been offered that coaching position with the Cannons, and I know there was the travel and the money wasn't enough for you, but here's your chance. Let me do my bit. We can buy a house. Hermione won't be alone when you are away on tour, and we've got the breathing space financially. Please let me do this for you. For _us_."

"Fucking tosser, Harry." Ron was looking at the table top, battling his pride.

"You have so much to offer, Harry," whispered Hermione. "We don't want you for your money."

"I know you don't! Of course I know that! But look at it this way. It's part of who I am. I am an orphan whose folks left him with a vault full of gold. And Sirius died, and he left me some gold too. Why try and pretend it away? I mean, what's the purpose of that? Especially when all it means is that we have a bit more freedom to make some choices about how we live? We're limited in so many other ways, I'm taking your freedom in so many ways--"

"You're not taking anything!" Hermione snapped. "Please stop saying that."

"This is a part of choosing _me_ , you know."

"We'd choose you with nothing-" Ron's face was flushed, "and you know it."

"Then why can't you choose me _with_ the gold?"

"That's different!"

"Please take the keys."

"OK. We will." Hermione picked up the delicate golden key.

"Like hell we will," muttered Ron.

"Oh honestly, Ron!" exclaimed Hermione. "Harry's right you know. We _are_ all in this together. It _does_ make sense. I think it would have made Sirius happy. And your parents, Harry."

He shot her a small smile.

"Hermione. Ron," said Harry, picking up Ron's key and putting it in his hand, he whispered, "All my worldly goods I thee endow."

"Oh Harry," choked Hermione.

Ron looked confused, so Hermione leant over and whispered in his ear, "It's from the old Muggle wedding vows."

Harry stood up and walked around to their side of the table. His heartbeat was pounding loudly in his ears. Hermione watched in awe as for the second time in one night he approached them before they had made a step in his direction.

"Hermione, I love you, and I want to be with you." He leant down and kissed her gently on the lips. "Ron, I love you, and I want to be with you." He paused before kissing him, a little awkwardly, on the corner of his mouth.

Ron's ears went the slightest bit pink.

"I love you too."

"So do I."

Relief washed over Harry as Ron picked up the tiny key in his big fingers and closed it in his fist.

"Okay, Harry. Thanks."

He shrugged.

"Well, Harry... " Harry couldn't help a small smirk as Hermione echoed her daughter "...that was ‘firstly'. What else did you want to talk about?"

"Oh, right."

Harry walked back around and took his seat in front of them.

"Ummm, it was all kind of tied in with if we'll get a place really. I mean, this flat is pretty small and I don't know about bedrooms and things. Your parents' house is long gone, and I swear I will never set foot in Grimmauld place again... I always just kipped in with you two, but I've got a bit of stuff, not much. Where will I put it? I guess... you see... I know I can be a touch moody at times--" Ron snorted and grinned at Harry's scowl. "I think I might need somewhere to be sometimes, on my own. And maybe you two might want some time together as well..."

"Yes. We need to talk a little about how this will work." said Hermione in a business-like voice. She briskly summoned some cups and a teapot.

"Cripes. It's Head Girl again," quipped Ron. "Please tell me you're not writing up a schedule for us. Ow! You don't have to hit me!"

"For goodness' sake, Ron. Please let us discuss this in a mature fashion!"

Harry smiled at the familiarity of the conversation regardless of the unconventional content. He watched Hermione deftly heat the water and measure the leaves for the pot. Leaving the tea to draw under a homemade, bobbly tea cosy, she folded her hands together and faced him.

"Harry. You are not an extra. Even now it's as though you think it's _us_ , Ron and I, and you added on."

"It _is_ kind of like that..." Harry said, quietly.

"No, please don't think like that."

Ron looked more serious now. "Listen, mate. We're not here to support you in some quest this time. This is our lives. The life we were looking forward to living after the war was over. Here we are. Let's get on with it. I've chosen Hermione. And I choose you, too. Just as much. I'm not just ‘letting' you share or that bollocks. And Hermione is the same. We've talked about this, mate. We just could never nail you down long enough to make it all clear."

"Harry," continued Hermione. "I suppose there are a few relationships here, and it may take us a while to get the balance working. Actually I suppose the balance will need adjusting from time to time. We must be able to be open with each other about these details. For example, Ron and I have a particular relationship, just because we've been together as a couple for a while. That is still there now. We have certain memories that we share, and all the history with Charlotte to accommodate into the new structure. And we have the times when it's been the three of us together."

Hermione leaned forward and took Harry's hand in hers. "I hope it's mainly going to be that from now on," she smiled at him. "but there's also the relationship you and I share, distinct from time with Ron, and you two have a very precious history together, apart from me. I don't want any of those things to suffer. And there will be the children." She released his hand and turned to Ron. "We have to weave it all together."

Ron and Harry sat quietly listening to her. It was a bit daunting when she laid it all out like that.

"I hope this doesn't all get screwed up."

"Oh Ron. It's a bit late to think that now. We just have to make sure it doesn't. And the way to ensure that is to be open about our expectations, and to clear the air quickly when there are frustrations. So I think we should have some rules."

Ron let out a great heaving sigh as he got some milk for himself, sugar for Harry, and with a quick swish of his wand cut a thin slice of lemon for Hermione. "Of course you do."

Harry didn't groan, but he felt nervous also. What could she mean? It was all sounding like a lot of work.

"Nothing bad, Ron! Just so that we can be comfortable that we're not stepping on each other's toes."

"Get on with it, Hermione," Ron muttered. "What kinds of rules are you talking about?"

"Well. We really must make decisions by consensus and not majority. We should keep looking for solutions to find something we're all happy with. It would be no good having someone resentful, you see. And I think we should make it all right for any two of us to spend time without the other one. But I also think that if someone is feeling left out, they should be able to say something, without fear of offending anyone."

Both men looked at each other and then nodded at Hermione to continue.

"Also, if someone is wanting time alone, for example if they are feeling overwhelmed, that shouldn't be upsetting to the others. However, I take it we are all choosing to remain faithful, physically, to each other."

They nodded again.

"Then there are things of a more practical nature, like...."

"Housework," the boys chimed together, laughing.

"Well, yes. You both know me better than to think I'm going to spend my life picking up after children AND two grown men."

"Harry's not a slob like me."

"Well my flat and my room at the Dursley's were both a bit of a hovel, I have to admit."

"Yes, but you were depressed, Harry. I hope you won't be depressed with us!"

"Aunt Petunia made sure I was well trained anyway. And since, well, since I'll be the one with most time I can do most of the house stuff if you like. But, I'm not picking up your scungy pants, Ron. You can manage that yourself!"

Hermione beamed at them both. Her happiness at the situation was like a cheering charm. Harry felt his face start to smile back.

Suddenly she was back to business.

"Now. Who shall we tell? And what will we say?"

"Shite! Do we have to think about that now?" moaned Ron.

"Yes, Ron. Harry will be moving in here permanently. We need to have the answers for Charlotte, so she doesn't get asked awkward questions by others. It's shameless how people will corner little children to satisfy their own curiosity! What do you want to say, Harry?"

"To Little Charlie?"

"Yes. Well, and to everyone."

"She wanted me to move back ‘home', so I know she won't mind."

"Of course she won't mind! She loves you."

Harry looked at his hands as he nodded shyly. He couldn't help but smile, knowing somehow that it was true.

  
"Hermione, I think we should just answer her questions when she asks them, you know? Just like we do with other things. If we make a big deal of explaining this to her, she'll think it's weird or scary or something."

"Ron's right there. Maybe just tell her I'm staying so she won't worry about next time I go away."

"You know... she doesn't sleep so well when you go."

"No? I didn't know that."

"Well," Hermione sniffed, "I suppose it's difficult to know what happens when you're not here."

Harry laughed again at the second echo for the evening. He explained what Little Charlie had said as he poured the tea for them all. The laugh they shared was tinged with affection and surprise at her insights.

"We have to tell Molly and Arthur first, of course." said Hermione as she sipped her tea.

Ron coughed into his. "Blimey. Must we? Can't we, like, warm up on someone easy first?"

"I think we owe it to them. They're your parents and they have taken Harry and me under their wing so much, especially since my parents died. It doesn't seem fair to lie to them."

"How do you think they'll cope? Will it be awkward? Have they guessed already, do you think? Should you tell them by yourself or shall we all speak to them together?"

Ron held his hands up in front of his face.

"Slow down, love. Erm... I'll tell them. By myself."

"What about your brothers?" Harry asked, watching for Ron's reaction.

"Honestly, I think Bill would be fine. Charlie too... And, well, I just don't know about the twins. Let's just let word get around to them, huh?"

"I'd like to tell Remus," said Harry. Ron nodded in agreement. "He's my parents' last friend. And-- he cares about me in his quiet way."

Hermione laid her hand on Harry's on the tabletop and squeezed it gently.

"Yes, and Tonks has loosened him up no end," said Ron.

"I think she'll be a good person to have on our side actually. She could help smooth things over with different people." Harry could tell that Hermione's fingers were just itching for a quill and some parchment to start a list. "Anyone else?"

"Definitely NOT the Dursleys!" muttered Harry. Ron sniggered at the thought of Harry's prim Aunt learning the horrifying truth about her freakish nephew. The snigger turned to a snarl. He shook his head and thought about their friends.

"Neville, I guess. Luna will find out from George. No one else needs to know really. What should we do if people ask questions? Will we lie?"

Ron turned to face Harry. It seemed they were leaving this up to him to decide.

"I'd rather stick to the truth, but I suppose it depends on how much of the truth we need to tell."

"And after the baby is born, if it has black hair and green eyes, then ..."

"Then we'll handle that as it happens!" huffed Hermione. "This is about honesty, not damage control!"

"The bloody _Prophet_ will know as soon as Harry moves house. They're going to have a field day with this." Ron snorted as he came up with an idea. "Hey! We should move somewhere unplottable! That would be one in the eye for them!"

"That's not a bad idea, but Harry, you must know that I don't care if the world finds out. I will be proud if I have your baby..."

 _Your baby... Your baby... Your baby..._

Harry felt his heart start to pound loudly in his ears. Too loudly. He couldn't hear what Hermione was saying. His tea cup clattered to the table. All the emotions of the day started to crowd around his heart. His mind was flooded with thoughts and impressions. Too many. He couldn't single one out. They were tumbling over his mind in waves.

"Harry, NO!" Ron's voice sounded very far away. "Harry! Bloody hell, not again. It's been ages..."

He felt Ron's strong arms encircle him from behind, supporting him before he hit the floor. Hermione's hands were on his cheeks. She was whispering, "Harry, stay here with us. It's all right. You're safe with us. You're home now."

Ron's lips were at his ear, but Harry couldn't make out the words at all. The rushing noise enveloped him and he was swept away, pulled under the swell.

  


  


  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

  


This story archived at <http://www.thequidditchpitch.org/viewstory.php?sid=3456>  



	4. Yes

~*~

The feeling of hands stroking his hair, his arms, his face slowly pushed through the mist that surrounded him. He felt kisses on his lips, his eyes, his scar. Tears were dripping onto his face, and he felt dampness on his shoulder where Ron’s face was pressing. His body stirred in response to the familiar touches and he followed the sensations, returning strokes and caresses, surrounding himself in the warmth of two people loving him. 

His mind was still grasping for something firm to remember, a thought to think clearly. 

All Harry could remember was that he’d said ‘Yes’ to Ron and Hermione. 

He remembered that he had chosen them somehow. He had opened his heart. He grasped that thought and held on to it with all his will. 

And then he felt it.

He felt that warmth of his love expand out and draw them in. 

Suddenly, as his climax released his body, his awareness of them exploded, expanded like it never had before. 

It was as though he could sense what Ron was sensing. The feeling of his skin underneath the other man’s hands, the brush of Hermione’s hair across his arm. The strength and hardness of his body firmly pressing against every inch he could find. 

Hermione was there too, full of loving concern and adoration for the two of them, her thoughts cataloguing their needs and her responses to them.

Slowly he realized that they were aware of the new bond. He felt their hesitation and awe. He sensed their compassion as the full depth of his emotional range touched their consciousness, and for the first time he _felt_ their commitment to him. The unwavering devotion. 

Somewhere in the background they all were aware of a little bubble of joy. Delicate and fresh, it smelled like spring, tasted like life. 

Just as he started to enjoy it, a harsh, ragged edge brushed against them all, causing them to stumble slightly, losing some of the flow of interactions. 

In all the years that Hermione had known Harry, there had been this shadow of sadness over him. Now for the first time it cast its darkness over her soul, and she _knew._ Knew why he couldn't shake off the need to save, to protect. To make amends for the horror that was somehow his fault. 

She was reminded horribly of the chill of a Dementor. Like all the good things were being sucked away, leaving only despair. It was coarse and spiky and it sent them sliding back into themselves. 

Hermione and Ron returned to themselves first, breathing heavily, holding onto the floor and each other for purchase. 

They sat with Ron up against the wall, Harry held firmly against his chest. Hermione was straddled across Harry’s lap, resting on her knees, legs tucked underneath her. Harry’s eyes were open but unseeing. 

“What the fuck was that?” said Ron. 

“I don’t know,” replied a breathless Hermione. “Harry. Harry, can you hear us? Please be all right!” 

She laid a gentle kiss on the edge of his lips, not wanting to inhibit his breathing. 

Ron was whispering again in his ear. “Come on, Harry. Come on, mate.” 

Gradually, Harry's open eyes began to register the sights around him. Hermione picked up his glasses from the floor next to her knee and handed them to him. He put them on with shaking hands. Hermione was biting her lip, peering at him intently. 

“Harry, what was that … that edge? It felt so … sore.” 

Harry shrugged slightly. “I dunno. It’s always there when I… When I… lose myself. I have to try so hard to tear away from it. It was… easier that time… with you there. Wow. Were you really there with me?” 

It had been amazing to have them bring him back all those times. But now they _knew_. They knew and they didn't doubt him. And he thought that maybe he could believe that they loved him, now that he'd felt it.... 

He felt Ron nodding behind him. 

“Yeah. Were we, like, inside your mind or something?” 

“Maybe.” 

“No. It was more than that. I felt what you were feeling. Not just thought what you were thinking!“ Hermione spoke in a breathy awed voice. “That was really amazing. It was like we really _were_ all part of the same person!” 

Ron leant down and pressed his forehead into the curve of Harry's neck. Hermione leant against his other shoulder, her arms encircling both of theirs and they all just breathed together. 

~*~ 

Harry slowly became aware of a tickling along his cheek. It wasn't Hermione's hair - his skin knew that sensation well. This was softer, and firmer somehow.

"Crookshanks! Stop that. Let him sleep, you daft cat." 

Of course. It was a tail. He felt a warm weight settle down at his side as the creature settled its front paws and head down near where his hand rested across his stomach. 

The leg underneath him shifted slightly, and he felt the rough denim of Ron's jeans against his cheek. 

 _Right_. _So I must have drifted off to sleep_. 

And now he was lying on the kitchen floor with his head in Ron's lap, his cloak draped over his chest. Hermione. She had always looked after them, really. When he was younger it had always been a little overbearing and bossy. He was so unaccustomed to being fussed over. Now that she was a mother it was practically a job requirement, but she had softened into the role somewhat. 

At first she'd been even more uptight and stressed. She'd read all the books on parenting available - Muggle and magical. She had growth charts and milestone markers hanging all over the Muggle fridge. But as Little Charlie had thrived, Hermione had seemed to let go of many of her unrealistic expectations and images of perfection. She still taught her to count, and read at a young age, and answered the little girl's questions in detail - enough detail to send Ron's eyes rolling to catch Harry's and they would both hide their grins. 

Luckily, Charlotte seemed to enjoy the stimulation and showed every sign of being as bright as her mother. And she didn't lack for tickles and running about. She was regularly thrown into the air. Her father and her many uncles were always on hand to play. Her twin uncles, who had nicknamed her "Little Charlie" took this responsibility particularly to heart. Only to Harry had Ron confided how relieved he was that she liked going up on a broom. 

Harry's attention was dragged away from his thoughts and brought back to the voices murmuring quietly over his head. 

"--but is he just settling for us do you think?" 

"He came home. He wants to be here. You felt it. You felt what he feels. He loves us." 

"Yes. Even though he's not _in love_ with us." 

"Hermione, you always say that. What does it matter?" 

"I don't know, really. I know there are so many ways to love someone. Why does it have to be the same love? we can love each other differently but just as intensely." 

"Yes, love. That's what I'm saying." 

"I'm sure your mother loves her children differently, but that doesn't mean she feels LESS for one than another?" 

"You convincing yourself or me here, Hermione?" 

Harry felt Ron rubbing his head - in a way he wouldn't if Ron knew Harry was awake. It felt nice. 

Ron had been so hesitant to touch Harry since he'd fled that last time. Harry found that he missed it - he found that his body missed it. He found that he missed the way they would lay together after the ragged breathing settled down and the urgent, hard sense of need had been sated. He missed the way Ron's hands felt. 

Harry loved Ron's hands. 

It was not something he felt he could ever say out loud. It wasn't just the long pale fingers with the large pads and round nail beds. Or even the way the freckles faded but continued to sprinkle down the joints on the back, leaving the palms perfectly pink. 

He also loved the way he held his broom. The way he handled the Quaffle. The way his fingers tangled and played with Hermione's hair. The way he held his daughter. The way he knew just where to press and knead on Harry's neck to ward off an impending headache. The way it had felt to have one of those hands wrapped around him, bringing him so surely to climax. 

"I had no idea, Hermione," Ron was saying huskily. "I thought that he should have been getting better by now. That he should just get over it or something." Harry heard him swallow and then let out a sigh. "Now I've felt that-- that thing. It's like it's still holding him back, sucking the life out of him. The fact he can still laugh at all is bloody amazing." 

"Yes. Poor Harry." 

"I fucking hate Tom Riddle. Stupid bastard is still screwing up Harry's life. Even now he's really dead." The rubbing stopped for a moment, before Ron shifted slightly and concentrated on the spot behind Harry's ears. " I just don't want him to have to go through all this crap any more. You know?" 

"Yes, Ron. I know." 

"He still misses Ginny." 

"Well, you know my theory about that." 

"Hermione. Harry wasn't secretly in love with me all along. He loved Ginny. He was going to _marry_ Ginny." 

"Yes, Ron. I am merely suggesting that part of Ginny's appeal was that she reminded him so much of you." 

"Oh leave off." 

"You know _you've_ always loved _him_." 

Harry felt Ron shift slightly again. 

"I've never looked at blokes like that, Hermione." 

"I'm not talking about other men in general, Ron, but about Harry specifically. I don't mean in the way that Bill is equally attracted to both men and women." 

Harry could hear Crookshanks purring loudly, the vibration buzzing through his chest. It was comforting and blended nicely with the sensation of having his head massaged. 

He thought about what Hermione was saying. Had he just loved Ginny because she was Ron's sister? It had been one of Ginny's own fears that he had vehemently denied. Many times. 

"I love _you_ , Ginevra. Why would I want that big smelly git? I want you." And he had. He had loved to bury his face in her hair, and smell the whiff of The Burrow that seemed to follow her around. He had loved the way her hand fit into his and how she fit so snuggly under his chin when he held her close. She had been so fiery and alive. She had made him believe he'd make it through. 

She'd been strong enough that he didn't have to look after her, but direct enough to tell him exactly what she needed of him. If he messed things up, she let him know. Loudly. Even painfully at times.... But at least he didn't have to try too hard to work her out. So many relationships seemed to have hidden rules that he didn't know. Rules that no one had taught him. 

The sense of aching loss swooped in his stomach. He had been left again. _I said yes to Ron and Hermione,_ he reminded himself. _They are here with me. I am here with them._ They were here, and they were talking softly about him. 

"It's alright, Ron." Hermione was crooning in a comforting voice. "He may have run before, but he won't now. He's thought about it and he's chosen us." 

"He's a bit-- I dunno -- reckless like that though. I bet it just suddenly occurred to him that he could corner us with the offer of a house. Throw my own words back at me." Ron's hands kept up their circles on Harry's scalp. "He can be a sly git." 

Harry felt a retort die in his throat. Ron would be so embarrassed if he knew that he was being listened to.  

"Ron, don't be impossible." 

The floor was starting to get uncomfortable. Harry tried to shift slightly without upsetting Crookshanks, or stopping the soothing touch in his hair. It occurred to him that he didn't feel like running, and that the close contact with Ron and Hermione hadn't made him feel the least bit twitchy. In fact he was loathe to do anything at all to break the contact with Ron's thigh and fingers, and with Hermione's leg which lay alongside his arm. 

There was silence for a few moments. The fingers in his hair stopped moving. 

"I know you're awake, Harry." 

"'Mnot," he muttered. 

"Ron, let him rest." 

"Nope. Dinner's nearly ready. I'm starved." 

Harry was jostled suddenly as Ron's leg disappeared from under his head. He prepared for a thump as his head hit the floor, but instead found it cradled gently in Ron's large hand and lowered carefully down. He opened his eyes to see Hermione and Ron looking seriously down at him. They were silent for a moment as Crookshanks protested the disruption and stalked off back down the hallway towards the bedrooms. 

Harry wasn't sure what love really felt like, and he had no idea if he was _in love_ with Ron _or_ Hermione. But he did know that a wave of something warm and comfortable was washing over him. He did know that he was home.

He looked from one to the other before letting his mouth curve up in a small grin, and watching them relax. 

"Let's eat," he said with a smile.

  


  


  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

  


This story archived at <http://www.thequidditchpitch.org/viewstory.php?sid=3456>  



	5. Dark Magic

~*~

“What are you reading, there, Hermione?” Ron wandered back into the living room after doing the bedtime ritual with Little Charlie. He was trying to see the cover of the big heavy book Hermione had propped up against her knees as she leant back on the couch. “It looks a bit dark there, love.” Ron took up his position at her feet.

“I think I’ve found something about what happened to us with Harry the other day.”

Harry leant up on his elbows, as he lay on his back on the floor staring at the ceiling.

He was very tired.

There had been two other "episodes" as Hermione called them in the last three days. This after being free of them for nearly two years. Each one left him just that little more drained. He'd managed to downplay the nightmares that still plagued him several times a week, but this seemed an awful step backwards. It hardly seemed fair. Harry let out a little humourless laugh at himself. Fair? Since when was his life fair? Still, just as he was feeling the happiest he had ever been, he slammed up into this locked door. On the other side was a way out of the tunnel he'd been living in. But now there was a door, locked with a Colloportus, blocking his way forward into "the rest of his life".

Unfortunately they hadn’t experienced the amazing bonding of that first day, but its after-effects still hummed in the background of their interactions. Hermione read and searched through her impressive collection of books on magical theory trying to discover the cause of their meld. They had not had any luck trying to instigate a joining on purpose.

Not even in bed together. The three of them. With no sudden visit to the raw edge of Harry's soul to work with, just the closeness and growing desire they felt for each other.

"We just need to join our focus," Hermione said.

It was still sinking in for all of them, that they had made this momentous step. They would be in the middle of some ordinary daily task, when someone would meet someone else's eye and they would find themselves grinning stupidly. Harry felt so at home. He was trying to remember not to ask permission before taking food from the cupboards, or to be caught off guard when Hermione discussed breaking his lease on the flat in Diagon Alley. The flat which stood empty. It was a good cover though. So far _the Prophet_ with its poison quills seemed to be keeping away. It was unlikely they saw anything out of the ordinary yet. There wasn't anything noteworthy about Harry spending the night at the home of his two great friends. Or to see several of his t-shirts hanging on the line with the family washing.

“It is a bit of Dark Magic that is talked about here, but it’s the only reference I’ve found to anything like it. We would need to reverse part of the ritual and adjust the incantation. I think I need to talk to someone about this." Hermione was muttering to herself, definitely in problem solving mode. She suddenly looked up at Harry. “Would you trust Remus? I mean, we were going to tell him about us anyway. What do you think?”

“I dunno, Hermione. It’s a bit much to lay on him all at once. Tell me what you’ve found first.”

“It’s called a ‘soul scar’. The Dark Magic is mentioned here is a pretty awful thing. It was when a wizard would try a process similar to creating a Horcrux from another wizard after forcing them to commit a murder. As soon as the murder had been committed, they would cast the spell to separate the soul fragment and take it into themselves to strengthen their own soul. Of course, it wasn’t really strengthened in any good way. Just that it would then take two attempts to kill them. Like they had two lives.”

“How is that similar to what happened to Harry?”

“The story here is of a failed attempt between a man and his wife. He was trying to ensure she would live through childbirth, by giving her a section of his soul as kind of a back up, if things became critical. It didn’t work and he ended up with a ‘scarred soul’.”

Ron curled his face in a grimace. “Sounds mental to me.”

Hermione ignored his grumbling. “I think that when Voldemort struggled with you as he died, he grasped you through your link in your scar, he managed to tear your soul slightly. Obviously he didn’t get it, as he definitely died, but there was a slight tear, and it has healed with a scar. For some reason now, it seems to be irritated again, to be causing you problems after all this time.”

Harry lay back down and studied the cracks in the ceiling.

Eventually he asked, “So what would I have to do?”

“The only logical way to heal it is with a ritual involving intercourse.”

Ron sat up straight. “What kind of book is that, Hermione? Most Potente Fuckes Through the Ages?” he sniggered uncomfortably. "You're not joking, are you?"

Hermione huffed and shook her head at him.

“No. The ritual spoken of here involves murder, Ron. Death. Sex is the opposite of that. It is a life giving act.”

“Well, that sounds all right then hey? That can’t be too bad.”

“Oh, Ron!”

“What’s wrong with that? Harry has shagged you heaps of times!”

“Ron!"

"What?"

Hermione shook her hair back over her shoulders. "It’s not as simple as that!“

“Of course it isn’t,” he muttered. “It never is.”

“There is a ritual, and a potion, and an incantation. To shuffle the order of the incantation shouldn’t be a problem. And the ingredients of the potion wouldn’t need to change much at all actually."

Hermione stood up and started to pace along the wall near the window. Harry and Ron shared a fond look. It was almost like old times.

Hermione worried her lip with her teeth, reading through the passages she had found again.

“Yes, that should work well. If I just adjusted the amounts of asphodel and lengthened the brewing time. I would need to find some Runespoor eggs. This will take at least a month.... Mmm . But this-- this could be problematic.”

"What could be?"

"Erm... well, you see..." Hermione coughed quietly. "I couldn't take part in the ritual."

Harry and Ron looked blankly back at her.

"Well I most certainly shouldn't take the potion." She looked from one boy to the other. "The baby. It's just not safe. Who knows what effect it could have?"

"No."

They looked over in shock at the hard tone of Harry's voice.

"No. No one else gets hurt. Not for me. Especially a little baby. We can find another way."

"That is what I am saying, Harry. The baby will be safe. Someone must speak the incantation. This person can't take the potion, and can't take an active part in the ... erm... ritual... which leaves--"

"The two of us," said Harry.

"Yes."

"The two of us will need to perform a sex magic ritual," clarified Ron, "Without you."

“Well there's no reason there would have to be a woman involved, simply that the injured soul is as they are to receive from the joining of the soul power.”

The silence that followed was not an easy one. Harry sat staring at Hermione who was making quick notes on a scrap of parchment she'd _Accio'd_ from the desk in the corner.

Harry felt his initial shock begin to give way. _He and Ron. Were going to have sex without Hermione._ In its place was a sense of nervous excitement. Of anticipation. He turned towards Ron. His mate's face was hidden behind a curtain of red hair. Harry could see him playing with the fringe of the cushion in his lap.

"So what happens, Hermione?" Harry started at Ron's sudden words.

"Well. The potion will cause a breakdown of the boundaries between your soul and Harry's. The incantation is in 3 parts and enables you to combine your soul power, heal the breach, and then become distinct again."

"So, um why do we need to sh... have the ritual?"

"Because the sexual magic creates a tremendous creative and healing energy. And the combination means that the whole is greater than the sum of the parts."

The boys looked blankly at each other again, and back to Hermione who was bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"Never mind. Please just accept that without the ritual the whole thing is pointless. It's the act of asking as well, Harry. You have to ask it of his soul. This is why Ron has to offer himself to you. So you can ask of him."

"What are you saying, Hermione? That it has to be me and Harry? And that he has to ... has to sh... take me?"

"“Well…. Yes. It would be you and Harry. You would be the receiving party.”

“Ummm, what exactly do I … well what does he have to ‘receive’... specifically?” asked Harry.

“Penetration, Harry. It would definitely have to involve penetration.”

Ron stared at Harry for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He stood up and opened his mouth to speak, before shutting it again and walking to the kitchen.

Harry felt his stomach drop as the door slammed and Ron's footsteps pounded down the steps.

Ron's reaction stunned and hurt him. _If anyone is going to go running into the night,_ thought Harry, _it should be me!_

He felt bereft and betrayed. Ron had made him promise to stay. To talk to them if he felt the urge to run. Now this.

Harry looked out of the window at the dark winter's evening before dropping back down to lie flat on the floor.

This was another unexpected pressure brought upon their relationship. But it wasn't THAT horrifying, surely? _I mean, it's just ME!_

A collage of images flashed past Harry's mind's eye. Tangles of arms and legs. Hermione's smooth back and wild hair. Ron's full lips and stretches of freckled skin. The sensations that accompanied the images were just as varied. The sure touch of Ron's large hands. The sound of Hermione's quiet gasps. The smell that hung in the air after they had been together.

Hermione looked knowingly at him over the parchment she was scratching away on.

“He just needs some time. I know what he will decide, Harry. You know he would do anything for you. He won't stay out for long tonight, anyway.”

"How can you be so sure?" Harry muttered at the ceiling.

"He didn't take his cloak. He'll freeze."

Harry was sure now that Ron loved him. He'd felt it after all. He was nearly ready to let himself believe that Ron needed him. Just lately, he'd been suspecting that Ron wanted him. The way he wanted Ron.

 _Obviously not!_ Harry thought with a grimace. He sat up and pulled his knees up to his chest.

“It’s not as though he’s never thought about it. You‘ve been moving in this direction for a long time now. He’s held back because he’s scared you don’t want it. But I am positive that he does.” She laid her parchment and quill down.

“I do too.” Harry whispered. Hermione knelt down next to him and put her hands on his.

“I know.” She leant forward and kissed his forehead. "I think he's scared that now he'll never know."

"Know what?"

Hermione laced her fingers through Harry's, and brought his hand briefly to her lips.

"If it would have happened anyway. If it's really what you want. If you really want him in that way. We've spoken about it." She raised her eyebrow in response to Harry's strangled grunt. "He wants you, Harry. He was worried how I felt about that, but he knows that I just want you both to be happy."

"Really, Hermione?" Harry forced himself to meet her eyes. "You aren't just trying to make things better?"

"No, Harry. I love Ron. Desperately. And I know he loves me. For all his faults." she chuckled affectionately. "For all his _many_ faults, there is no one more loving. I trust him absolutely. I used to worry what would happen. I used to worry that he would choose you over me."

"Hermione..."

"It's all right, Harry. He has taught me so much about love. It's not like a maths sum that we learned at primary school. It's more like Arithmancy. He has shown me that he could give me all his heart, even though he'd already given all of his heart to you, years and years ago. He's taught me about devotion."

"Devotion. Yes. He's--"

"Your second." Hermione said quietly.

"He doesn't need to be my second like _this."_ protested Harry.

"No. That's not at all what I meant." A small hand covered Harry's mouth, halting his outcry. "He loves you, Harry. Let him do this for you."

"And you? Can I ask this of you too, Hermione?"

"Oh yes." She beamed at him as she stood, holding her hand out to him. Harry grasped it in his, pretending to need her to help him get up. Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist and stood still listening to his heart beating in his chest until he returned the embrace. Leaning back she smiled at him. "I want you whole Harry. It's time."

~*~

Ron kicked a piece of gravel and listened to it splash into a slushy puddle.

He was acting like a right berk and he knew it.

His arms wrapped tightly around his middle as he tried to warm up. Stupid. Didn't even think of getting a cloak! Just went straight out the door.

Just last night he had held Harry in his arms and made him promise not to run away again. Last night! He'd laid his forehead up to his friend's and vowed to always be there.

"Fuck!" snarled Ron at a larger stone. He threw it into the bushes that surrounded the local playground.

 _Lasted a whole 24 hours with that vow! Brilliant!_

He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration.

In his imagination he saw Harry's face. Hurt and bewildered. He saw the shutters come back down behind his eyes as he withdrew back into his protective shell.

"Shit _Fuck_ Bugger it all to Salazar."

A stick was lying across his path. Ron scooped it up and started to pick the bark off it. He folded his long legs down and collapsed onto the swing he had pushed Little Charlie on the day before. The rusty metal chain cold against his cheek.

He and Harry had walked to the corner shop to buy some milk. Little Charlie riding on Ron's back, chattering in his ear about everything and nothing.

Without even looking sideways he had been aware of Harry walking at his side. He had known that Harry would have his hands shoved in his pockets, causing his shoulders to hunch up slightly. He would be walking with his gaze on the ground, eyes flicking left and right, looking a million miles away, but senses ready for danger at any moment.

His arm tingled with the possibility of brushing up against Harry and his fingers twitched, wanting to reach out and touch him.

Little Charlie had talked and laughed and sung, as was her way. She had pointed out the neighbours' cat. The one that always ran away. She showed them the house that she said was haunted. With friendly ghosts, who were ever so very _polite_. She planned how to spend the coins her mummy had placed carefully in the pocket of her cloak before they left the house.

"You are happy today, Harry," she had announced conversationally. "Daddy, Harry is happy today."

"Is he, pumpkin?" Ron grunted through a thick throat.

He dared to look sideways and felt himself start to blush at the look on Harry's face. He was still looking at the ground, but he was biting his lip, trying not to smile. He looked so damn adorable, Ron nearly tripped. He clutched at Charlotte's legs as they stumbled slightly. He felt Harry's hand come out to steady him, gripping his elbow.

The stick bounced off the side of the see-saw and onto the grass. Ron sprang up and paced around the slide, stamping his feet to try and get warm.

He stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and then pulled out the tiny golden key that he'd kept with him since Harry had wrapped his own freckled fingers around it. A deep sigh left his throat. "Fuck!" he muttered. He looked at the little piece of gold sitting in his palm.

Charlotte preferred Harry to push her on the swing. He tickled her every few passes, and let her pretend she was riding on a broom.

"We could get a swingset of our own for the new house." Harry called out to her, "Would you like that Charles?"

"Oooh yes, _please_." Her voice went up in a shriek as she kicked her feet away from tickling fingers, the purple scarf flying behind her.

Ron put the key carefully back in his pocket. How long had he waited for Harry to come to them? To approach _them._ And now he runs off into the night like some girly virgin. He closed his eyes.

An image swam before his mind. Harry's face relaxed as he slept. Flanked by Hermione on one side and Ron on the other.

Ron had watched Harry sleep for years. He always curled up, as though he still didn't have quite enough room. The blankets held tightly in his fists. And even in the hottest summer night, he always had to have at least a sheet covering him. Perhaps it was to protect himself from intruders, or from spiders creeping out from under the bed in that fucking cupboard he was left in. Ron suppressed a shudder.

But when he fell asleep in their big bed, nestled into one or both of them, he had to stretch out.

"Knees Harry," one of them would mutter if he started to tuck them up.

He had to release his grip on the covers or his bedmates wouldn't be able to roll over. There had been a few times when a sleepy Ron had forcibly wrenched the duvet out of his hands. "Share the quilt would ya, mate?"

Maybe one day, when he was deeply asleep, he wouldn't flinch away from a cuddle.

The Harry in his mind changed. His mouth wide open, his eyes tightly shut. Harry's eyes suddenly open and staring into his as he comes, before his face crumples and he starts to cry.

Ron's eyes began to sting. He gritted his teeth and shook his head.

I _promised_. I made _him_ promise. _I'm a dick. A complete and utter wanker._

 _He must know by now_ , thought Ron. Hermione would have told him. Because Hermione knew everything. He would know.

 _That I want him so much_.

 _What if he's gone when I get back?_ No.Harry had promised. No more running.

But Ron knew that this time _he_ had been the one to run away. He shivered. The cold was seeping into his bones.

 _I think I’m going to be sick._

"Fuck!" Ron whispered, as he turned to walk back home.

~*~

Hermione and Harry stood together in the middle of their living room floor. Hermione could feel him relaxing into her, and his arms growing heavy around her shoulders. "You're so tired, Harry. Why don't you have a lie down?" She gave him a quick squeeze before releasing him and walking over to the cloak rack. She wrapped herself up in her own deep red cloak, and took Ron's off the hook, cast a warming charm over it, and folded it over her arm. At the moment she reached out to turn the handle on the door they both heard footsteps coming up the path. Hermione turned to Harry.

"Put the kettle on, Harry. I think we all could do with a cup of tea."

 

  


  


  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

  


This story archived at <http://www.thequidditchpitch.org/viewstory.php?sid=3456>  



	6. One Big Happy Family

 

Molly Weasley sat herself down at the kitchen table, cup of tea in hand. She brought it to her lips to sip, but placed it back into its saucer before tasting.

 

She looked at the tall young man seated across from her. Her lips pressed together and she took a deep breath.

 

"Ron, you know that I believe that it's one man and one woman. For life."

 

"Yes Mum, but..."

 

"That's what you committed to when you married Hermione. The rings and the vows are all based on that. You know that."

 

"Yes Mum. I know. That won't change anything. Hermione is just as...."

 

"In an ideal world...."

 

"It's not an ideal world."

 

"Yes. I was going to say that in an ideal world, Harry would..."

 

"In an ideal world, Harry would be with Ginny, Mum." Ron sprang to his feet and started pacing around the kitchen table. "In an ideal world, Ginny would still be with us, and they would have their ideal life. We all miss Ginny, Mum. No one more than Harry."

 

"I'm trying to say something, Ron. Please don't interrupt! And sit down so I can talk to you."

 

Ron closed his mouth and nodded at his mother as he pulled up a chair.

 

"I was _trying_ to say, that I still believe that that is what we are made for. I think it's playing with fire what you are doing. BUT--" she silenced him with a hand on his arm "--this world is far from ideal. Any dreams I had of how things should be died with my daughter. Ron, if you and Hermione are really happy to be living like this with Harry, then all I can do is love you as I always have and hope that things work out well."

 

Ron stared at his mother. She was taking a sip of her cooling tea, cup held with shaking fingers. He couldn't believe what she was saying. She was practically giving them her blessing.

 

He turned to look at his father who had sat silently through the whole conversation. Ron hated to see how the war had aged him.

 

Mr Weasley stood up. "I'll not lose you, Ron. I want all my children to be happy. Harry and Hermione included. If this is--is what you need, if you have found love, then that's all I need to know. You are always a part of this family. No matter what happens." He placed a sad kiss on the top of Ron's head before shuffling into the living room.

 

"Mum...." Ron strode around the table and gathered his mother in his arms, burying his face into her greying hair.

 

~*~

 

 

Remus sat staring at his knees. Beside him, Tonks was asking questions. All the questions that he had in his mind, and many that he never would dream of asking in a million years. He wasn't sure if the enquiries about sleeping arrangements and last names for the baby were really necessary.

 

He was startled out of his reverie by the sound of his name spoken in a quiet, strained voice. His gaze took in the green eyes in front of him, looking at him without blinking.

 

Harry spoke again.

 

"Remus?" Harry shifted in his seat. "Are you shocked? Upset? Umm... pleased?"

 

In his mind's eye Remus saw the same eyes in a different face. _"We never meant to hide anything from you, Remus. We thought you knew... that you guessed..."_

 

 _"Moony. I love her."_

 

 _He and Padfoot had exchanged glances. They'd known but they hadn't **known.**_

 

Remus stared for a few moments more, settling his thoughts and then smiled at Harry. He saw the tension drain away from the younger man's face in response.

 

"Harry, you look happier than I've seen you in years. That has to be a good thing."

 

"Are you going to be OK with us do you think?"

 

"Of course he is!" insisted Tonks. Remus looked around the faces of these three who he still somehow thought of as children, and realized that it was a very long time since they had been young at all.

 

They looked apprehensive, even defiant.

 

"Right," Tonks said briskly, "Let's get that scrumptious tea we were invited over for, and then we'll talk about this spell you've found, Hermione."

 

She leant forward and grabbed Hermione's hand and pulled her into the kitchen.

 

They left silence behind them and Hermione didn't say a word as she pointed to the cupboard with the tea cups. Tonks took them out--without breaking any--and set them on the table.

 

While she was waiting for the kettle to boil Tonks jumped up and sat on the kitchen bench swinging her legs, experimenting with different colours on her nails.

 

"All right then. Spill it Hermione."

 

Hermione started and looked up from arranging biscuits and cakes on a platter to take with the sandwiches into the sitting room where the boys were now talking softly with Remus.

 

"What on earth are you talking about, Tonks?"

 

"You've admitted it at last. It's all out in the open. So I can finally ask. Remus wouldn't let me before."

 

"I'm sure I have no idea what you--"

 

"Come on, Hermione. Just between us girls, yeah? .... It's gotta be all right then? Having the two of them? Taking care of you.... I've never had a chance to try that. Well, not with two actual _people_ anyway.... "

 

Hermione blinked.

 

"Oh right. Erm well... "

 

Tonks let out a raucous laugh, then asked in a conspiratorial whisper, "So is it just two at a time? Do you take turns or all three at once?"

 

"Tonks!" Hermione turned away for a moment to gather her thoughts. She couldn't tell what it was like to have four hands, two mouths on her, the four legs, the two--

 

"And Harry and Ron... well they're _together_ too, right? Remus thinks yes, but I'm not so sure..."

 

Hermione's eyes widened, and she quickly said, "Would you get the sugar bowl from that shelf, please?"

 

"You won't shock me, you know. Just quietly, Remus likes me to be a bloke on the odd occasion, but there's a major problem for me with that--"

 

Hermione raised her eyebrows. She would file _that_ revelation away for another day. For now her mind wandered slightly away from the implications regarding Remus and towards the mechanics involved in a transformation of this nature.

She felt her face heating in a blush.

 

"--No ejaculation of course," continued Tonks.

 

She mouthed a silent response, "oh..."

 

"Don't worry. You don't have to tell me the gory details if you'd rather not."

 

Hermione shook her head to clear her mind of images of their bed last night. Ron wrapped around her back, inside her as she knelt on all fours in front of Harry. Harry babbling out his gratitude to them both. Ron murmuring in her ear how amazing she was.

 

Tonks tilted her head. "I don't think I've ever seen you flustered before, Hermione."

 

Hermione blushed more and busied herself summoning plates and cutlery.

 

"You all love each other, yeah?" Tonks asked in a gentler voice. "This is for good isn't it? You're not going to end up turfing Harry--"

 

"Oh gracious! Tonks, no! This is us now."

 

"Good." Tonks jumped down from the bench and gave Hermione an awkward one arm squeeze. "Sometimes a girl's gotta talk. Anytime you need an ear, you can have mine." Her ear changed into a tall elegantly-pointed pixie ear. "Anyway you need it."

 

Hermione rolled her eyes before smiling and saying "Thank you Tonks. I'll remember that."

 

"Right. Time for some nosh. This looks brilliant. Oy Remus, look at this. Real food and all...."

 

Hermione took a deep breath before following her friend into the other room.

 

~*~

 

It was an awkward moment when they all walked into the glowing kitchen at the Burrow for the traditional Weasley First Sunday of the Month lunch. Harry was waiting for coldness, and Hermione was on edge despite Ron's assurances of his parents' support. The tension evaporated when Molly noticed them and flung her arms out as she always did to welcome them in.

 

"Hermione, dear. How are you feeling? Come in near the fire. Give me your cloak. And Harry. Let me look at you. It's been too long since we've seen you. Are you sleeping, dear? Your face looks pale. Come and have a biscuit while we wait for dinner to be ready. Now where's Little Charlie? Where‘s my darling?"

 

The familiar warmth of the Burrow enveloped them

 

~*~

 

 

"All right there, Harry?" Ron appeared at his shoulder as he looked out the kitchen window, watching Little Charlie running about with Fred in the fading afternoon light, chasing some garden gnomes through the barren vegetable patch.

 

It had been an odd meal.

 

Harry had sat amidst the usual chaos and loud voices that all felt so familiar, and yet, everything was changing. He wondered how welcome he would be next month, once all the family had discovered the way things now stood. There had been a few sideways glances. A number of abandoned questions. Harry was avoiding the twins, and also Percy's widow, Penelope who had joined them today. She had an open invitation to the Burrow, but usually stayed away. It was very painful for her and she usually ended up being extremely prickly and offending someone, or leaving in tears. Harry had always gotten on relatively well with her, but he had a feeling that she, like her husband, would _not approve_.

 

People had started drifting in and out of the kitchen, picking on leftovers. There was no need for a proper dinner after a Weasley family lunch.

 

"Yeah. So your parents really are cool with -- everything... huh?"

 

"Well, you and Hermione are still on the clock, so how bad could it be?"

 

Harry snorted in affirmation as he glanced over to see his name. His hand was pointed with the others, at "Home".

 

Harry felt a gentle touch on his hip, telling him Ron was about to hug him. He stiffened up momentarily and then willed himself to relax. _I should get used to this really_. It's not as though he didn't like the affection. It just always took him by surprise. He certainly felt a little shy about this in public.

 

Ron had become increasingly affectionate since he'd returned from his walk alone into the night, the week before. It seemed to Harry that he was trying to make up for it. Harry hoped he knew that all was forgiven.

 

It had been forgiven when Harry had walked straight up to him as he shivered by the fire and placed his hands on the other man's shoulders. When he had pushed him down to sit on the squashy footstool and knelt in front of him. When he had leant in and pressed his lips firmly to Ron's, starting slightly at how cold they were. When he had felt his chest up against his friend's and continued to move his mouth slowly, until he felt Ron begin to kiss back.

 

Ron had stared at him, his expression a mixture of terror and relief.

 

"I'm not running away from this, Ron." Harry had whispered into his mouth. "Please tell me you aren't either."

 

"Hello there... things getting a bit snuggly in here don't you think?"

 

Harry twitched away as George's voice came out of nowhere. Little Charlie's voice was drifting in from outside, her squealing breath making puffs of smoke in the cold air.

 

Ron kept his hand resolutely around Harry's waist and said to his brother "Piss off."

 

"No need to get shirty with me, Ronniekins. Just surprised to see you and Harry here getting all touchy feely."

 

"Yeah, well get used to it, George."

 

"What's this? Have you thrown the lovely Hermione over now then? Is she back on the market while you switch teams or what? She's expecting too... tsk tsk...."

 

"No, you great pillock! I haven't thrown Hermione over. As you well know."

 

"So, the rumours are true then? It's all ‘ _ménage à_ golden trio'at your house now?" George was making an effort to sound light and breezy, but Harry could tell he was not feeling joky at all.

 

"Something like that."

 

"Does this trouble you, George?" asked Harry in a quiet serious voice.

 

There was silence for a few moments before George cleared his throat. "No, mate. Luna reckons it's the best thing could have happened to you all. She's predicted it for years now. Something about resetting soul balance or some such thing. Fred said Angelina agrees. 'About bloody time' and all that." Harry's mouth twitched into the shadow of a grin. "Can't honestly say the idea hasn't ever occurred to me myself... with two birds mind....."

 

The three men stood in the silence. The awkwardness fading.

 

"So, Ronnie. You taking that coaching job or what?"

 

Ron squeezed his hip before walking over to the kitchen table to get a butterbeer with his brother. Harry felt himself exhale.

 

Maybe this was going to be ok after all.

 

~*~

 

For Hermione, things weren't going quite so smoothly.

 

"It's just quite.... unusual. That's all," said Penelope. She looked around at the other women sitting in the comfortable chairs and sofas of the Burrow's living room. "Molly has been so generous to him. And how does he repay her? By taking advantage of her good nature!" As usual no one responded to her, though Angelina was rolling her eyes and huffing. "He will make this family a laughing stock with this bizarre arrangement."

 

"I'm right here, you know Penelope," muttered Hermione.

 

Luna was gazing intently at the photos on the walls and hardly seemed aware of what was happening at all. And Penelope had never really taken to Fleur, who sat with one Weasley grandchild curled in her lap around another one to be born in a month. She was too beautiful, and far too... _foreign...._ and now she was supplying Molly Weasley with beautiful, foreign grandchildren. Percy's widow tried again.

 

"I don't know, it just doesn't seem very respectful of Ginny's memory! Have you thought of her? How she would feel about this?"

 

This received more of a response. A chorus of disapproval rose from the assembled wives and girlfriends. Hermione looked as though she'd been struck.

 

Bill and Charlie wandered in, attracted by the raised voices.

 

"Wha... How could you insinuate that we... That I ... Dammit!" the familiar nausea washed over her. The timing infuriated Hermione as much as the spiteful words spoken by Ron's sister-in-law. She rushed out of the room in time to hear Angelina round on Penelope.

 

"Leave her alone, Penny! You don't know what you're talking about! This is all pretty full on, but I've known them for years, and they loved Ginny."

 

"How dare you." The words were spoken in a quiet voice. The girls turned to look at Harry standing in the doorway, a look of cold fury on his drawn face. "Are you suggesting that we were going behind Ginny's back, before? Or that we were hoping she would _die_?" The calmness in his questioning was starting to fade, as the volume of his voice rose. "Do you think that a day goes by when I don't miss her? When I don't wonder what would be happening if she was still here? You don't have the monopoly on regret here."

 

"Ha!"

 

Penelope's harsh outburst got their attention, as well as that of the twins who were in the kitchen getting another drink.

 

" ** _I_** don't have the monopoly? What do you call what you do? Moping around for years, getting everyone's sympathy. Poor little Chosen One! Miserable little Boy Who Still Lived. Harry Sodding Potter! How many more exceptions do you want made for you, just because of who you are? What about MY loss? What about Percy? No one waxes lyrical about him at family gatherings. He died fighting for his family, but none of you seem to give two hoots about that! I know you only put up with me because Molly makes you."

 

There was a general shuffling of feet and sense of discomfort among the group. Charlie shook his head and said quietly, "We miss him every day, Penny."

 

Penelope made a muffled "hmmph" sound before launching herself back into the fray. "I know exactly what you lot thought of him. You thought he was a git. You thought he was self-centred and pompous."

 

"Well, he was, wasn't he?" muttered Fred.

 

"And he married his match," countered George under his breath.

 

"But he was still a Weasley," Fred finished.

 

"Percy was a man doing a dangerous task--," sniffed Penelope. "--Ginny was just a silly little girl who got mixed up in something too big for her. And you just feel guilty. And so you should. It's your fault." She pointed at Harry who stared back, with all the colour draining from his face. "Ginny, Percy... all of them...... It's _all_ your fault!"

 

Everyone stared at Penelope open mouthed with shock.

 

Angelina started to say, "You're out of line..."

 

But Penelope wasn't listening. She was leaning forward now, every limb taut with rage.

 

"And I thought today was for _family_. You're only here because your friends have taken pity on you."

 

A fury of red hair stormed across the room, and towered over the girl on the sofa.

 

"Shut up!" Ron was holding her arms so tightly that he had pulled her up out of her seat. "Shut the fuck UP!"

 

"Harry has been family here since we were at school," growled Fred. " Before we even knew your name."

 

George stood beside his twin and nodded. "Harry is family, regardless of where he lives, or who he lives with."

 

There was a muttered round of agreement from the room full of Weasleys.

 

"And we are _not_ just taking _pity_ on him!" Ron hissed, inches from her face.

 

Tension filled the room. Ron's breathing was loud as he willed himself to let go of his dead brother's wife. "We all love him, allright?" Ron felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Bill's voice behind him. "Harry's another brother as far as I'm concerned."

 

Angelina put her arm around Hermione's shoulders as she hesitated in the doorway, and Fred led her into the kitchen to calm down. Penny sank down into the sofa looking shell-shocked. Gradually, conversation picked up around them and a fragile peace settled over the group. Penny sat alone staring at the carpet.

 

Molly came in with Little Charlie. She looked at the tableau before her.

 

"Well, Daddy. I think someone is ready for bed. Shall I take her upstairs?"

 

"No thanks, Mum. I can manage that. Come on Pumpkin. Say goodnight." And with that he swept the shrieking little girl up and over his shoulder and took the stairs two at a time.

 

Hermione levitated a small table into the centre of the room and then went into the kitchen to gather some mugs as Molly summoned the makings for tea and coffee. Suddenly Harry's voice startled them, in the background. It wasn't loud but the ragged tone caught everyone's attention.

 

"She was blazing. A blazing light. It's how she lived. Like sunshine. And it's how she died," Harry was vaguely aware of the whispered concern around him." I haven't told you that yet, have I? She became this huge pillar of light..."

 

"What's happening to him? Is he having a vision?"

 

Hermione rushed into the room, not able to stop Harry hitting the wall with a thud as he slid down to the ground.

 

"Ron!" she wailed, " Ron, help me. Harry! He's going!"

 

Ron tore down the steps where he had been settling Little Charlie into bed in Ginny‘s old room. He grasped Harry's face between his hands. They heard whispering continue around them.

 

"What's happening?"

 

"Is he in a trance?"

 

"It's like the turns he took at school! I remember hearing that once in Divination....."

 

"Harry, it's ok. We're here and you're fine. We're at the Burrow. Everyone is here. We love you. We all love you. Come on, mate." Ron was muttering in Harry's ear.

 

Hermione was stroking his chest and arms. She pushed the flats of her hands up under his shirt. It wasn't enough contact and she knew it.

 

"We have to get him home. He needs to go home." Hermione's voice was taking on a brittle edge. "Harry, we‘re going to take you home."

 

George jumped up. "I'll get Little Charlie for you. Meet you there. It's ok, babe. Just wait here for me," the last to his partner, Luna.

 

Ron picked Harry up in his arms as effortlessly as if it was Hermione. Ignoring the looks and mutterings around them Hermione gave Ron a quick nod and Apparated back to their flat.

 

~*~

 

"He's never done that before, Ron."

 

Ron and Hermione sat on the edge of their bed, shoulders touching, hands joined, watching Harry sleep. He lay alone, curled up in a tight little ball, occasional tremors shaking his shoulders.

 

"No. He hasn't."

 

"Rambling like that. Certainly a new development."

 

"Yeah."

 

"I'm dreadfully worried." Hermione fiddled with a curl of her hair, twisting it around her finger and releasing it. Twisting it again.

 

"Yes. Me too."

 

"It's escalating isn't it? Each attack is slightly worse than the one before."

 

"Seems like it."

 

"I hope this spell works. The potion is dreadfully difficult."

 

"Uhuh."

 

"Ron! Aren't you going to say anything? Aren't you worried?"

 

Ron blinked and turned to his wife, withdrawing his hand from her grasp.

 

"Aren't I worried? What sort of question is that, Hermione?"

 

"Well, you are just sitting there mumbling 'yes, no, uhuh' like some monosyllabic teenager." Hermione sat up very straight and started gathering her hair up into a rough knot at the nape of her neck.

 

"You think I'm not worried? What exactly do you want me to say, Hermione? You want me to tell you what is wrong? How to fix it? _I don't know_ what is wrong. _I don't know_ how to fix it. And don't you think that is driving me mental?" Ron lay back on the bed, resting his head near Harry's knees.

 

"Well you'd never know from what you are saying."

 

Ron sat back up and turned to Hermione, his face an expression of disbelief.

 

"You shouldn't _need_ me to say anything. Surely you know me well enough by now! Merlin, Hermione. What kind of rubbish is this? Anyway, isn't that _your_ job? To know how to fix it?"

 

Hermione cringed at his voice, heart sinking at the sudden distance she felt between them.

 

She felt terrible. Of course she knew he was worried. She just couldn't help but lash out at him when he seemed so calm, so immovable. Her worry felt like she was wound up in a tight spring ready to uncoil. She knew it was her job to find the answer. To know what to do.

 

Ron sprang up from the bed and walked towards the door.

 

"Ron...."

 

Her voice was so quiet, so bereft. He couldn't just walk out. He stood taking some deep breaths to stop him striking back at her. To make her feel as small as he did. As helpless.

 

"It's all right, Hermione. The spell will work. The potion will work. The bloody ritual will work."

 

"But how do we know? Even Remus said he wasn't one hundred percent certain that it would."

 

Ron's shoulders rose as he sucked in a deep breath. He shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the fact that they were clenched into fists.

 

"It has to work. We haven't gotten him this far, just to lose him. That's just not going to happen. It can't."

 

There was silence for a few moments before Ron opened the bedroom door and left the room. Hermione, sitting frozen still, heard the wireless go on and a Quidditch match begin. As the commentator announced the release of the Snitch, Hermione lay down on the bed, curled up next to a sleeping Harry and cried until her throat was sore.

 

 

  


  


  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

  


This story archived at <http://www.thequidditchpitch.org/viewstory.php?sid=3456>  



	7. Sunshine

Hermione was walking along a cliff. Down to her left was the crashing surf. Rather a long way down now that she noticed. And it was crashing onto spiky rough rocks. _Why am I walking along a cliff? Why is it always a cliff? And why am I not moving away from this cliff? This rather dangerous looking cliff!_ The wind was whipping her hair around her face and catching in her mouth.

 

It was starting to get colder and Hermione noticed that she was shivering. She wrapped her arms around herself to try and brace somewhat against the driving winds, only to find that she was holding a baby. She recognised it immediately as the unborn child from her womb. It looked up at her and blinked huge green eyes.

 

"Hello Mummy," it said and flashed a brilliant smile that Hermione recognised in her very cells. She sensed a tingle of delight in response to that thought.

 

"Oh.. Hello dear one. You can talk."

 

The baby just smiled and nodded, before leaning its little tiny bald head up against Hermione's breast. Her hand automatically held its back and patted gently. It almost seemed to sigh before opening its rosebud lips to say, "I can walk too. Put me down."

 

Hermione frowned and hesitated before carefully lowering the little person to the ground and taking it by the hand. They walked on for a few minutes hand in hand-- _Decidedly odd. How could I possibly be walking hand in hand with someone approximately the size of a kitten?--_ before the baby-- _I don't even know if it is a boy or a girl --_ stopped and pointed up ahead, slightly to the right.

 

It was the scar. The soul scar.

 

She had never been here without the boys before. _I must be dreaming. This isn't a soul meeting. And Harry brings us with him. How could I be here without him? Without Ron?_

 

"Papa is hurting," said the child. _Baby, child, person. What does one call an unborn baby who walks and talks?_ "Papa is hurting and that is why."

 

The cold had increased and Hermione was visibly shaking now. Her very bones were aching and she felt close to tears from the bleakness and despair that seemed to be in the very air she was breathing. Her free hand rubbed gently over her belly, which was still swollen. _Dreams are so illogical._

 

"He believes in you. You are making him better, and I will help," the infant's voice was very calm. Very sure. "I will help, and you and Ron will make him better. You will heal him. Won't you Mummy? Mummy....."

 

Hermione looked at the scar up ahead of her. From a distance it had seemed black, but now up close it seemed to be an undulating, oozing, bottomless deep green. Rather than a straight harsh line she was looking down into something that seemed to be more fluid and alive.

 

"Mummy..... Mummy..."

 

The quiet whisper snaked into Hermione's sleeping mind and she dragged herself out of the dreamy fog she was in to become aware of the sound of her daughter's voice, hissing in the darkness. The scar faded into the distance and she felt like she was being pulled up out of a deep, dark hole. The sadness hung around her thoughts and the sense of chill lingered on so that Hermione had to stop herself from shivering.

 

"Mummy... wake up..."

 

She went to speak, to answer, but had to pull several strands of hair that had wrapped around her face, out of her mouth. As she blinked open her eyes, a face appeared only an inch or so from her own, peering in the darkness.

 

"Mummy, I heard Harry crying," Charlotte sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, "And then I had a bad dream."

 

Hermione looked down to see Harry's face near her left shoulder, her arm wrapped in both of his. Ron's hand was resting on his head, as though he'd fallen asleep while rubbing it.

 

She smoothed her free hand over Charlotte's bed-messed hair and murmured, "Did you darling? Do you want to tell me about it, or just come in and sleep some more? It's far too early to get up yet."

 

Little Charlie crept up onto the bed and lay facing her mother. "It was horrible, Mummy. Harry had a falling down thing and people were shouting and then you and Daddy couldn't wake him up." Hermione continued to smooth the ginger curls away from her daughter's face. " And I could hear him crying and crying, but he couldn't move his face, or open his mouth, I could only hear it inside my head...." she burrowed her face into her mother's neck and let some tears fall, before surreptitiously wiping her face sideways and lifting up her head to look across her mother at the other two people in the bed.

 

"Harry's not crying now," she observed.

 

"No, pet. He isn't," agreed her mother. They lay together for a while, listening to the sleeping-sounds around them. Hermione's eyes had nearly drifted shut again, when Little Charlie patted her tummy, snaking her hand under the quilt and resting it on the rounded lump.

 

"Will the baby look like Daddy, or like Harry?"

 

"I don't know, sweetheart. We'll have to wait and see, shan't we?"

"Well, maybe it will have red hair, like mine.... and green eyes like Harry!"

 

"Hmmmm.... that's unlikely. Mind you, Harry's mother was... Maybe it will have brown hair like mine?"

 

Hermione looked over at the large faced table clock on the desk under the window. The hand was pointing to "Go back to sleep for goodness sake. It's hours until morning."

 

"Why will the baby have two daddies, and I only get one?"  


"Keep your voice down, my love." Hermione traced a line down the side of her daughter's face and around her Weasley chin, up to place a finger across her lips. "Do you want Harry to be your Daddy too?"

"Not really... I already have the best Daddy in the world," Charlotte answered in a loud whisper, "and besides, then I wouldn't have a Harry anymore would I?"

 

"You'll always have a Harry, darling,"

 

"If the baby has black hair like Harry, will it call Harry, Harry, or will it call Harry Daddy?"

 

"Gracious, Charlotte, I'm too tired for this conversation. Let's talk about it tomorrow,"

 

Charlotte nodded before she turned over keeping her mother's arm in the hollow of her neck and Hermione felt her press up against her right side and slide one foot back under her thigh, as she had done since she was a toddler.

 

Looking to her left she saw Ron open one eye and smile at her. There was no distance between them now, even with Harry lying between them. The tensions of the previous day faded away, just as her dream had. She smiled back as he raised himself up on one elbow and leaned across Harry to gently kiss her before flopping down and falling instantly back to sleep.

 

 

~*~

 

3, 4, 5....

 

Hermione's hair was falling in her face. She huffed a breath, puffing at the locks hanging in her eyes.

"Pht!" She shook her head.

 

8, 9, 10.....

 

The potion she was stirring was at a critical point and she absolutely could NOT stop in her count of anti-clockwise rotations.

 

"Ron." she called. "Ro-o-on!"

 

 _Where was he?_

 

The new house was built around a central room which combined a large kitchen and conservatory. One wall was made of large double glazed windows with a large set of french doors leading out into the garden. They were currently open and the faint murmur of two voices drifted in from outside. Charlotte's giggle could be heard in the midst. A smile played across Hermione's face.

 

Ron was such a wonderful father, just as she had known he would be. He could be lax when it came to the practicalities, like keeping Charlotte out of the mud. Or remembering to clean her teeth before bed.

 

Hermione silently apologised to her parents. _He gives her far too many sweets._ So did Harry....

 

13, 14, 15.....

 

"Ron!"

 

Her stomach was not yet large, but it was uncomfortable to lean forward against the bench, over the cauldron. _As soon as this is all dealt with I am setting up a proper Potions lab._ She felt irritable and impatient. At least the morning sickness was easing. _Morning sickness_. _What clueless male named that particular affliction?_

 

She huffed at her hair again. "Ro--"

 

A hand reached over her shoulder and hooked the stray lock behind her ear.

 

19, 20, 21.

 

"Thank you." Her frustration evaporated as she felt a scratchy kiss in the curve of her neck. Deft fingers poked other pieces of hair into the loose bun piled on top of her head.

 

"How's it going, then?" he asked, continuing to nuzzle her neck and shoulder. "Should be ready fairly soon, yeah?"

 

"Only three more days." She leaned back against him, sighing as his hands slid around what remained of her waist and rubbed gently over her swelling stomach.

 

"Where's Charlotte?" she murmured.

 

"Harry's taken her for a walk."

 

"Poor Harry. He's so tired. He shouldn't wear himself out like that."

 

Ron's hands smoothed her shirt over her breasts, enjoying their increased size and weight. "He's ok, Hermione. It's only a little walk. Besides, he'd rather be out of doors. It's a gorgeous day."

 

It had been a frustrating process, gathering together all the elements they needed to create the potion. The twins had assisted with one or two restricted substances, gained through a rather dubious contact in South America. The less Hermione knew about that particular transaction, the more comfortable she would remain.

 

While Ron and Harry had been moving their belongings into the house they had bought, she had spent an intensive week cloistered away with Remus in the Hogwarts Library researching every possible side affect of adjusting the spell and potion. They were well satisfied that they had covered every ramification of their adjustments. Consultation with the Headmaster's portrait uncovered nothing new, but did bring a blush to all three faces when he had looked over his half moon glasses at the trio, commented on the geometric benefits of the triangle and wished them a long and happy future together.

 

Ron took a few strands of flyaway hair out of his mouth, and with a finger under her chin, turned Hermione's face around. "You're amazing, you know."

 

Hermione shook her head before closing her eyes as he kissed her.

 

As the weather warmed up, Harry had relaxed. It had delighted both of them to see him smile, and to wake up next to him, morning after morning. He now left his toothbrush out of the spongebag it had lived in, and his shampoo stood comfortably next to theirs on the bath ledge of their lovely large bathroom. When Harry had presumed enough to put out some of his photos, they had exchanged silent grins, but wisely not mentioned it. Hermione smiled at his mother every morning as she brushed her hair, and silently assured her that her son was in good hands.

 

One pair of those hands was presently tracing the outline of Hermione's shape.

 

"Does he have his wand? To do the charm?" Hermione whispered as Ron turned her to face him. His hands came to rest on her bottom, gently squeezing and pulling her in closer to him.

 

"Yes, Hermione," he muttered into her mouth, "He has his wand."

 

They broke apart as Ron lifted her up to sit on the kitchen bench. "Besides, you know he never has attacks in the sunshine."

 

Hermione looked out the window. "Just because he hasn't before, doesn't mean he won't. And they're coming so often now. He really shouldn't go out alone." Her eyebrows began to furrow slightly.  


"Hermione. He'll be fine. He knows the charm. He'll use it if he needs to. And Little Charlie knows what to do."

 

"It's too much for a little girl...."  


Ron covered her concerns with another kiss. "Stop fussing."

 

Hermione reached out her thoughts to Harry. How she wished that the brief moments of connection they experienced could be expanded or controlled in some way. She felt Ron's arms wrap around her as he drew himself near, nestling between her knees, lips brushing across her cheek.

 

Hermione felt a surge of desire wash over her and she hooked her heels behind his legs and held him close.

 

 _Bmp._

 

She leaned her head back.

 

"Did you feel that?"

 

"Was that....?"

 

"It was a kick. A definite kick." A flutter of excitement and happiness in her stomach. _Bmp_.

 

"There it is again."

  
Ron chuckled. "Cool." He snaked a hand in to lay against her stomach and waited, head resting on Hermione's shoulder. She sighed. _Harry's missing this._

 

"What a shame Harry's not here," Ron muttered. Hermione smiled.

 

 _Bmp_. _Bddmp_. "Hey little one. Daddy can feel you."

 

"One of your daddies..." They held each other's gaze.

 

"We're really going to do this, aren't we?"

 

"Are you having second thoughts? Because, Ron, it's a bit late for that."

  
"Not second thoughts." Ron turned his face into her shoulder and said. "Just can't quite believe it... you know?"

 

He certainly hadn't found it easy to believe when, for the first time he'd been wrapped around Harry, a moan being drawn from his throat as they grasped at each other's skin, kissing roughly with open mouths. Hermione had watched, spellbound and slightly taken aback at the desperate way her two boys had finally come together, tugging and thrusting with a wildness she'd not seen in either of them before. And the aftermath hadn't brought tears, but laughter. Deep chuckles. Relieved giggles. Even one hearty whoop. They had dragged her forward into their slightly hysterical embrace so that they could all lay together, a tangle of arms and legs and beating hearts. It had been just as difficult to believe how easily secret thoughts were then told. Desires spoken. Fears brought out of dark places. Fears of being left behind, of not being good enough, of needing too much.

 

 _Bmp._ Another kick.

 

 _Where are you, Harry?_ Ron felt a longing for his mate's arms around him. Somehow this moment, so full of sweetness, was lacking.

 

The sound of a chattering girl wafted in with the early spring breeze. A deeper voice answered. Ron lifted his face and met Hermione's eyes. They smiled at each other.

 

"Let's check the kitchen... I'll bet they're eating lunch without us!"

 

"Oh, _no_ , Harry, they simply wouldn't!"

 

The door opened and the rest of the family came in out of the sunshine.

 

"I told you they wouldn't!"

 

Ron saw Harry look up from her shining face to see their embrace. He raised his eyebrows and bit his lip.... He looked down at Little Charlie. "Maybe they want us to go for another walk...."

"No!" chorused Ron and Hermione. Ron flushed and Hermione giggled.

 

"We were just wondering after you."

 

"Quick." Ron said. "You gotta feel this."

 

Harry let Hermione place his hand flat against the lower part of her belly. It felt incredibly intimate considering they were all fully dressed, in the kitchen, and in the presence of their little girl.

 

Harry bent his head down and enjoyed the sensation of contact with his two lovers. He was completely unprepared for the sudden wave of feeling that engulfed him.

 

And he was there at the scar. With Ron and with Hermione.

 

Hermione's certainty tinged with an element of surprise. Ron's hands, as familiar in their touch as his own.

 

A trickle of delight flowed from one to the others, dancing back and forth between them.

 

It was so exciting to know they were all there as one. Moving forward together. This moment of unity, usually reserved for times of fear or passion, was instead calm and peaceful.

 

Hermione's hair was tickling Harry's nose, even though his face was nowhere near her. Ron knew that Harry was sucking strength from the connection, like he could save it up for use later on. Hermione wanted to hold them both close forever and never let them go.

 

They were somewhat accustomed to it now. This momentary interplay between the three of them. It was more than thought and more than feeling. It was knowing. It was being. Each other. Just for that snapshot in time.

 

That's how Hermione knew that Harry was no longer missing Ginny in the same desperate way he had been. And how Ron knew he was mourning that, and feeling guilty for moving on so soon. It's why Harry knew they understood. Understood that he had to keep a small flame of loss and guilt burning or he wouldn't be able to allow himself to enjoy what the three of them now had.

 

"Me too!" Little Charlie wriggled and slid in between them until she was part of the group embrace. "Do you have a sick tummy, Mummy?"

 

The trio giggled.

 

"No pumpkin. She's fine."

 

"That's good," the little girl answered her dad, sighing in theatrical relief. "Is Harry going to fall down?"

 

Hermione gasped, and Harry rubbed her back, letting her know he wasn't upset. "No Charles, I'm not going to fall down."

 

Little Charlie rubbed her cheek on his arm and looked up into his face. "I like family cuddles better when no one is falling down, and no one has a tummy ache."

 

So they stood there for a moment longer, enjoying the fact that no one was falling down. That no one had a tummy ache.

 

Just enjoying the sunshine streaming in through the windows.

  


  


  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

  


This story archived at <http://www.thequidditchpitch.org/viewstory.php?sid=3456>  



	8. Whole

~*~

 

"Three days?" Harry blinked and looked at Ron and Hermione before turning back to Tonks. "How could I have slept for three days?"

 

"Well, it was a rather major event, Harry. Ron only woke up a few hours ago himself." Hermione adjusted her position so that she could sit facing Tonks and maintain contact with both boys. "I woke up when the power went back on."

 

"The power?" asked Harry.

 

"Oh yes. The electricity went out in the entire village."

 

"Wow!"

 

"Yes ‘wow'. It was out for twelve hours."

 

"The Muggle authorities were hard pressed to fix it actually," added Remus, "but Arthur managed to send someone in to help smooth things over and cast an _Obliviate_ or two for good measure."

 

He smiled at Harry, who suddenly blushed realizing he was lying, naked under the sheet, with his head in Hermione's lap and his hand in Ron's. Neither Remus nor Tonks seemed much phased by this, so Harry tried to ignore it also.

 

Without much success.

 

His every sense was alive to his two friends. It was not like their bonding moments when they _were_ each other, this was more distinct. He was himself, apart. But _aware_ of the others in an acute way. Somehow he knew that Hermione had spent a lot of time running her fingers through their hair - contrasting the thick spikes of his glossy black mop with the fine golden red mane of their best friend. He watched her hands now as she traced over his and Ron's joined fingers.

 

"We had no idea so much magical energy would be generated or we would have moved you to Hogwarts," Remus continued. "Unplottable house and _Fidelius_ notwithstanding."

 

"There were reports of a large flash of light and a hazy purple smoke from the area, but they've managed to modify that to a lightening strike," put in Tonks.

 

"Purple light?" Harry looked at Hermione, struggling to remember the events. "There was purple light, and purple smoke."

 

"Yes. From the wound healing spell we cast. Ron and I. There was a type of infection in the scar." Hermione reached a finger out to trace the ragged raw line that ran, jagged down his forehead. "It's why you were getting ill. We needed to heal it before I could speak the _Essencio distinctus_ and complete the ritual."

 

"I remember," whispered Harry.

 

He closed his eyes and pictured them standing either side of him, before the scar, each with a hand extended towards the writhing mass of murky green as Hermione spoke a wandless incantation.

 

In the moment before he felt himself wrenched violently from his soul union with Ron he had seen Hermione almost glow with power. She had looked majestic and beautiful. It was how Ron saw her, he realized. And Harry could understand why Ron loved her as he did.

 

His own feelings for her had crept up on him. She had never invaded his dreams as Ginny had.  Her beauty was more earth than fire. But there was a wholeheartedness... a single-mindedness to the way she had always given herself to their friendship that had transferred itself to the way she loved him now. He could never see her as anything other than lovely.

 

"What made you think of the wound healing spell, Hermione?" Remus asked suddenly. "We didn't even consider anything like that in our research."

 

Hermione shrugged her shoulders and squirmed slightly. "Well, it will sound rather silly, but--" she took her hands away from the boys and ran them through her hair and then over her stomach, "-- well, I had a rather odd dream last week."

 

"What sort of dream?" asked Tonks.

 

"One of those strange pregnancy dreams that you can have. No, Ron not one of _those_ \- they generally occur in the last trimester - this was just surreal, and ever so slightly spooky." Hermione hesitated, knowing how odd this would sound. "In the dream I met the baby," she wrapped her arms protectively over her belly, "and the baby .... Well... warned me what would happen. I didn't understand it at the time, but as soon as I was there, it was so obvious. I'm sure it was simply my subconscious bringing up some details that had escaped my notice...." Her voice drifted off to a murmur.

 

After several moments Tonks prompted her, "What did the ‘baby' tell you?"

 

 _"_ That ‘Papa' was sick and that Ron and I would heal him. And it showed me the scar and I could see that it was not just a scar, but an infected wound."

 

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance and Ron grinned.

 

"Oh, Ron, it doesn't _mean_ anything. It was just my imagination latching on to various facts wafting about in the back of my mind."

 

"So you don't think it means anything that it said ‘Papa' and ‘Ron'?"

 

"Quite frankly I don't! You should have seen some of the dreams I had when I was pregnant with Charlotte! -- No, Ron! Not _those_ dreams! -- All that search for Horcruxes fresh in my mind.... Honestly!"

 

She looked at her boys and her heart filled with emotion. They seemed still to be joined somehow.

 

She had seen them together physically, but nothing had prepared her for the sensation of seeing their souls seep together, to become one mass of ... of _RonHarry_.

 

The moment she spoke the incantation, as the words _Essencio completus_ left her lips, and the strength of Ron's undamaged soul had filled the spaces and holes in Harry's heart, their thoughts and opinions had melded together, their joys doubled and their pain deepened. Harry had taken on Ron's openness and had put more words to his thoughts than she'd ever heard of him before.

 

Now they were themselves, apart, but it seemed, fancifully for sure, that their outlines weren't solid, that they were.... blurred around the edges. A slight quirk to the line of Harry's smile seemed to remind her of Ron, and Ron's eyes held a shimmer of Harry's hesitation.

 

Even as she noticed this, the sensation itself faded and they were themselves.

 

Hermione loved the differences in her boys.

 

Ron was bluster and fire and big hands and a bigger heart. He loved her with a devotion that made the voices in her head - the ones that always told her how she needed to be _more -_ quieter. With him she felt like she was _enough_. More than enough. He looked at her as though she were pretty, or even beautiful. His eyes devoured her body like she was a gourmet feast, not a practical wrapped lunch. Even when he made her crosser than she knew she could be, it ignited a spark in her that let her know she was alive. He made her weak at the knees with need and gratitude.

 

With Harry it was different. It had always been different.

 

She had noticed, approvingly, how handsome he'd grown, and delighted in his quiet masculinity. But he'd never set her blood on fire despite the fleeting moments of curiosity, when her teenaged self had wondered how it would feel to kiss him.

 

He was a brother, son, mentor and friend, all rolled into one. He was the standard she judged her actions by. Her reason to keep on trying and not give up.

 

He would never know the number of times she had nearly abandoned their search, but the image of Harry crying alone after his parents were killed, the picture of him locked under the stairs with the Dursleys, the memory of him in the weeks after the Tri-Wizard Tournament staring into space, needing her and Ron near him - these were the things that helped her keep going. She knew that the wizarding world depended on them, that there was no chance of an end to anti-Muggle discrimination until Tom Riddle was stopped once and for all. But that wasn't why she fought her fears and ignored her better judgement to stay with them.

 

It was for Harry. He needed them. That was enough.

 

And later when she had taken him into their bed, she had been reaching out to him. Tethering him to earth, not letting him go. By making herself as vulnerable to him as he had been to them. It had been fulfilling and empowering and always beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with romance, but everything to do with devotion and caring and love.

 

If he looked at her and felt need or lust, more than a few appreciative glances, Hermione hadn't seen it. She saw gratitude and acceptance in his gaze. Knowing and trust.

 

But still, it was Harry and that had been enough.

 

Hermione suspected that had changed.

 

She had sensed it each time they had bonded. Ron had taken to teasing Harry about noticing her breasts, laughing good naturedly as Harry blushed. They would both lie and stroke her hair when they relaxed in the evening, reading and listening to the wireless. Being lovers had unlocked ignored possibilities, passed by without question in deference to Ron.

 

And after this ritual, this complete meld, of Harry's soul with Ron's, she knew that he had seen her with different eyes. How this would affect their triad, she could only guess. She trusted they would work it out. They would stay together and grow together.

 

As long as Harry trusted her to know the answer, to fix the problem, to be there, then she would do everything in her power not to let him down.

 

That's why when Ron had looked at her through his potion induced haze, his longing for her to be with them was so compelling that she had crossed the room from her safe place by the window. She had taken his face in her hands and kissed him as she whispered the first part of the spell to set the ritual into motion - _Essencio unificatus -_ just as Harry had breeched his body, and in that moment had felt herself swept into the union as though she had touched a Portkey, but with its hook embedded in her heart, not her stomach.

 

"So why didn't you sleep for days and days, Hermione?" asked Ron, his voice hoarse and dry. "I remember you being with us." He coughed and threw a longing look towards Tonks. "I'd kill for a cup of tea, or even a glass of pumpkin juice."

 

"I imagine that I was not as affected since I didn't take the potion or take part in the actual s--"

 

"--ritual," Remus finished for her.

 

"Yes, the ritual itself," she cleared her throat, "did go as planned, but it seemed my... erm .... proximity, " she felt herself blush and looked pointedly away from Tonks who was smirking as she walked towards the bedroom door in response to a rattle from the next room, " caused a bonding to take place."

 

There was the sound of a conversation and after a moment Tonks returned carrying a tea tray.

 

"That's Molly on the Floo. Little Charlie over heard them saying you are awake and is anxious to come and see you."

 

The trio smiled at each other as they munched on biscuits and sipped the juice.

 

"She's eaten as much pudding as she's allowed in four days," she continued "and has worn out both Fred _and_ George who can't believe her energy. Molly seems rather chuffed about that. She's bringing over some food for you, too. Horrified at the thought of her poor little darling without nourishment for this long. I'd put some clothes on if I were you, boys. Don't want to give away _all_ your secrets...." Tonks said over her shoulder as she left to give the all clear to Molly.

 

"Are you ready?" Remus asked them. "Everyone will be full of questions I'm sure although we've kept the ... erm ... nature of the ritual under wraps."

 

Ron looked from Hermione to Harry, and back again.

 

A sudden panic was gripping him at the thought of leaving this little enclave, safe with his two loves. The thought of being physically apart from them made his stomach drop alarmingly.

 

Ever since he'd taken the potion and felt the defences around his soul lower he had also seen inside his own thoughts in a way that usually was so difficult. The things that he wrestled so much to see and to know were clear and laid out in front of him. But the clarity was fading like the memory of a dream as you wake.

 

He could still just remember how he had felt the potion flowing through his blood. It had been a not quite cold feeling, that had nearly tingled its way along the network of veins throughout his body. His arms had shivered slightly, and he'd become aware of the skin on his back in a way he usually wasn't. His perspective had flickered alarmingly between the feeling of Harry's hands sliding up his arms, and how it felt to _be_ Harry nuzzling his neck and drawn into Ron's embrace.

 

 _I_ _'_ _m not good enough for this. It should be Hermione. She_ _'_ _s brilliant. And worthy._ he had thought in a moment of lucidity.

 

He had looked over at her - his wife - and briefly held her level gaze. She had come over to them and murmured to him, "It's alright, Ron. You are going to be fine. It's just you and Harry. Like you have been with him, he will be with you now," and she had kissed him. His ability to form words was leaving him and he couldn't explain that he wasn't afraid of that at all. His fears all were directed towards her. That he would be letting her get away. That she would think less of him somehow. That she would doubt his love for her, or wouldn't know how he needed her even as he longed for Harry.

 

He had raised his eyes from her face to Harry's and noticed Harry was speaking to him. Whether the words were audible or not he couldn't quite remember. It had seemed as though Harry's voice rang inside Ron's head even as he captured Hermione's lips in a kiss.

 

"Ron," Harry had said, "I need to just tell you something. I know that we have to do this. And I know you mightn't really want to - not like this at any rate. But I have to tell you something. I really, really do. Want to."

 

The surreal haze had increased and he'd only just heard Harry's voice taking on a more urgent tone, infused with desire.

 

"All day when I've thought of doing this--" he rubbed his hands up Ron's long thighs, and Ron had felt the strength of the muscles rippling under his own freckle dusted skin, felt it as Harry did "-- I was feeling this _longing_ inside when I imagined myself taking you. Inside you." Harry's fingers had found their goal and were probing and stroking.

 

"Merlin, Ron. I've wanted this for so long."

 

He had felt Hermione grip her wand and start the movements that would initiate the ritual. She had kissed him again as Harry's voice echoed around his head.

 

"Me too, Harry," he had replied, somehow. Not with words. Hermione was whispering the incantation into his mouth. "I could have gone my whole life and never acted on it, but it was always there.... always." He'd gasped as Harry had finally entered him, and the spell took effect.

 

And then he'd been swept away.

 

A shriek from next door announced Little Charlie's arrival just as Harry struggled in to his jeans, and Ron wriggled into a t-shirt of Harry's that he'd found on the bed next to his arm, and quickly grabbed the last of the biscuits to pop into his mouth.

 

Then Hermione was kneeling down picking up her daughter and holding her tightly to her chest. "Oh how I've missed my girl!" She carried her over to the sofa underneath the window where Ron and Harry were seated and they passed her around for cuddles and kisses and snippets of news.

 

They could hear Molly and Arthur speaking to Remus, and Tonks shrieking with laughter at something the twins had said.

 

Harry squeezed Ron's knee and felt Hermione rest her head against his shoulder as Little Charlie bounced about telling them all they had missed out on by not coming to The Burrow with her.

 

He stretched out his awareness and realized for the first time that the darkness was really gone. There was no more shadow sucking his thoughts from the back of his mind. No murky cloud souring every good feeling with fear and pain and anger.

 

For the first time in what seemed to be a lifetime, he felt whole.

  


  


  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

  


This story archived at <http://www.thequidditchpitch.org/viewstory.php?sid=3456>  



	9. Epilogue

~*~

It seemed it had only ever been the three of them. He had lost count of how long they had been together. Was it years or months? Was it lifetimes? Only the three of them - even when there were others around.

 

Should they count it from the Ritual? Decide that they had been together for 12 weeks - _11 weeks and 4 days_ \- from the moment he'd really felt free to give them his heart in the way he'd known he _should_ for so long?

 

Looking through squinting eyes, Harry stretched gently - trying not to disturb the bodies on either side of him.  As he arched his back, he felt his legs slide along the backs of Ron's calves, the soft hairs tangling with his own wirier ones.

 

He considered rolling over and exploring more of Ron's legs, following the hair as it got thicker and slightly coarser the higher up he went. He loved the little triangular patch of hair at the base of Ron's spine, and the soft down that covered his arse. The evening before, he and Hermione had spent a giggly half hour comparing their favourite parts of Ron's body. She much prefered his chest and shoulders, while Harry favoured the legs and arse. "You have a splendid bottom yourself, Harry," she had commented, making him flush and them both giggle even more.

 

Harry ran a hand up his chest, scratching vaguely near his right nipple, before settling his hand over his sternum, to feel the pulsing beat. He closed his eyes again. It was such a comfort to him to feel it.

 

This undeniable proof that he was still alive. That it all wasn't a dream.

 

That _this_ wasn't all a dream.

 

Hermione stirred and flung her left arm across his stomach, palm up, the other across her face, blocking the morning sunshine from her eyes. Without his glasses, Harry could only make out the vague impression of wild hair, mounded stomach, and long limbs. The sheet slid down off her breasts and Harry peered, scrunching up his nose, trying to get a clearer view, but she rolled away, sleepily sliding a pillow under her leg to support her belly.

 

They would both sleep longer. Harry decided not to disturb them.

 

Hermione grunted and stirred again. She wasn't a graceful sleeper. Harry loved that about her. She ran their lives with such efficiency, practical and pragmatic to a fault, but when Hermione slept Harry saw the little girl, the insecurity, the need to belong.

 

He knew that Ron and Hermione still needed each other. But that was ok. Because they needed him too. In so many ways. He felt gratitude overtake him. When he felt the old ways of loneliness taking him away he could ask - with a look, a touch, for them to remind him that he belonged with them.

 

He knew that they still watched him as he slept. He'd woken up many times feeling their eyes on him, listening to whispered conversations, letting them smooth his hair and stroke his skin.

 

Perhaps it was better to say that their time together truly dated from that night in early Januarywhen he had heard the plea in Ron's ultimatum, felt his heart break at Hermione's distress, when he had brought the keys to his vault, _their vault,_ \-- the night that he had said 'Yes'. 

 

That was truer than marking their 'first time' - all those years ago in the gloomy second floor bedroom in Grimmauld Place. He had clung to them, it's true, surrounded by portraits of Sirius's disapproving relatives. Ignoring the tutts and pureblood jibes, silencing them with a wave of his hand before they could insult Hermione and Ron outright. But he had offered them nothing. He had done nothing but take. Take - like he had when they had joined him on his search. His quest. Through all the months of fear and tension. Of subterfuge and study. The weeks between spurts of action that had stretched paper thin with a kind of tense boredom. In all that time he'd given them nothing, just taken their support, their knowledge, their strength. Their love.

 

Even when Ron had lost his brother, and then Hermione her parents, he had left them alone to help each other.  He had felt himself to be the cause. A reminder of what they no longer had. He'd told himself he was helping, by getting out of the way. And then it had all come to the end. They had won.  And when they should have been rejoicing he had lost Ginny - _oh Ginny  -_ it had taken him weeks to realize that Ron had lost her too.

 

But now he had something to give them. More than the gold in his vault. More than another body in the bed. More than he'd ever been capable of giving to the beautiful red headed girl who had waited so defiantly for him.

 

The thought of her didn't consume his heart with grief anymore. The flame of it still flickered there, and he could feel it if he thought about it. But something else was growing around it. Never extinguishing it completely, but overshadowing it. Outgrowing it.

 

This had been creeping up on him for the last few weeks.

 

It was like a bubbly feeling in his stomach, a catch in his breathing, a tingling on his skin. And he was blushing.

 

Blushing!

 

As if he was Ron!

 

Ron and Hermione had started noticing too.

 

That was the strangest part of it. Whenever Ron smiled at him, or Hermione brushed past him, or either spoke quietly in his ear, the bubbly, catchy, tingly feeling would be back. He found himself watching them when he thought he was concentrating on something else. Ron or Hermione would catch him at it, and tip their head to alert the other and they would share a smirk.

 

Ron's stomach let out a loud gurgle and Harry felt him wriggle slightly. It wouldn't take long for his stomach to wake Ron completely.

 

Most mornings they would be joined by Little Charlie who would crawl across the quilt, over Ron - barely flinching in his sleep - give Harry a warm hug and butterfly kiss before curling up in her mother's arms to fall back to sleep.  Harry would lie for a little while longer and then roll out of the bed, slide his feet into some tatty old slippers and shuffle down the stairs to make breakfast. It was so different from cooking for the Dursleys. Ron always protested that he was doing too much, but Hermione hated to cook at the best of times, and with the memory of nausea still fresh in her mind would cringe away from the kitchen until at least lunchtime.

 

Sometimes when Harry was turning the eggs or stirring the porridge a pair of arms would slide around his waist and a stubbly chin would nuzzle at his neck. "Mmmm... smells good," Ron would murmur, "and breakfast looks all right too." He'd then chuckle to himself thinking it just as funny as the other hundred times he'd said it, and get a tray with Hermione's favourite cup ready to take back up their room.

 

This morning it seemed that their daughter was enjoying a lie in, so Harry cautiously extricated himself from the bedclothes, put on his glasses and made his way out of the bedroom.

 

He greeted Crookshanks who stalked out of Charlotte's room and padded down the stairs as Harry considered this new sensation and what it meant.

 

The day before had been strange. Neville and Luna had come around - as was usual for a Saturday lunchtime - but both had gone back to their respective partners early in the afternoon. It was a glorious day and the sunshine had drawn the entire family outside.

 

Harry had been pushing Little Charlie on the swing when his gaze was captured by the sight of Hermione hanging up the washing. Bending over to pick up an item then stretching up to peg it on the line that Ron had set up just slightly too high for her as a joke.

 

Rather than admit defeat she wavered between dragging a footstool along with her to climb up on - this caused problems with reaching down into the basket - and standing on tip toes to fling the clothes over the line. Harry didn't know why she didn't just use magic, but he wasn't complaining. He wasn't complaining because with every movement the old tee-shirt that Hermione wore rode up slightly, curling over the large bump of her stomach, revealing a patch of skin at the back above her low slung drawstring pants when she bent over and stretching over her breasts as she strained up to the wire.

 

Ron had been sitting on a bench against the wall, fiddling with a Muggle toy that he was fixing for Little Charlie. The sunlight falling in a beam, illuminating the glow of his hair, playing across the freckles on his nose and highlighting his long, strong fingers and their delicate movements.

 

"Harry! Push!"

 

Little Charlie was hanging in front of him, wriggling on the swing, trying to regain the momentum that had been lost.

 

"Oh, sorry Charles. I was miles away."

  
"What's wrong? Why are you looking at Mum and Dad like that?"

  
Harry had shaken his head slightly to clear his mind.

 

"Like what?"

  
"Are you sad or glad? I can't tell."

 

"Glad, Charles. I'm definitely glad. Happy to be here with you all."

  
"Glad to be home?"

  
"Yeah. What about you? You happy to be home?"

  
"Oh yes! I just LOVE our new home. I love the garden. I'm going to grow tomatoes!"

 

Harry's mind had started to wander again, as Little Charlie prattled on about her plans for a treehouse, the colour she would ask Mummy to spell her bedroom walls, and how she would show the baby around when it was born.

 

 _I couldn't stop looking at them. It's insane. I've known them since I was 11_ , Harry thought as he summoned plates and cutlery. _We've done everything together. And I mean Everything!_ he sniggered slightly to himself in adolescent awe at how much more of "everything" he had experienced than he would ever have dreamed.

 

The sound of voices floated down the hallway. Little Charlie's giggles and the sound of running feet. Then Hermione's admonition to "please be careful on the stairs!"

 

The morning was bright and clear and on a whim, Harry sent breakfast to lay itself on the table under the enormous old apple tree that spread its limbs over the walled garden.

 

"Breakfast outside today. What do you think?" he asked Hermione as she stopped in the doorway.

 

"Goody!" exclaimed Charlotte immediately. "I think the sky makes the best roof, don't you?" She opened the french doors and trotted barefoot over the grass, managing to avoid all the stepping stones, laid so very carefully _by hand_ by Ron and his father, greeting the flowers as she went.

 

Harry turned to share a grin with Hermione and caught her looking at him, her lips quivering.

 

"What's wrong? Are you in pain?" He quickly conjured a three legged stool and guided Hermione to sit down.

 

"I'm perfectly fine, Harry. Really." She leant her head back and took a deep breath. "Progesterone poisoning. Honestly." Her hair waved wildly around her head as she shook it and took a deep breath. "Blasted pregnancy hormones, making me sniffle at the drop of a hat."

 

Harry knelt in front of her and took her hands in his. "Are you sure you're all right?"

 

Hermione smiled reassuringly at him and squeezed his hand in response.

 

"It's just... oh, Harry.... you just look so _good_."

 

"And that made you cry?"

 

Tears under control, Hermione managed a huff and an eye roll before brushing Harry's fringe back and tracing the healing wound on his forehead.

 

"Do you wonder how things might have been, if we'd not gotten our Hogwarts letters, Harry?"

 

Harry sat back on his heels.

 

"Only in nightmares."

 

They smiled at each other.

 

"We'd never have met each other," she said.

 

"Or Ron," he replied.

 

"Now _that_ would have been a tragedy," came a voice from the house. Hermione squeaked as she leapt to her feet in fright. "Think of all the chess games you'd never have lost?" Ron smirked as he winked at Harry and took Hermione's hand.

 

Harry followed as Hermione led Ron outside and sat down at the table. She gazed at her daughter, one hand resting on her stomach - her expression soft, slightly amazed. Ron's face mirrored hers as he gazed at Hermione.. He dropped a kiss onto the top of her head and she leant in to him whispering something that Harry couldn't hear.

 

He stopped a few steps from the table and watched them for a moment, struck by the beauty of the image before him.

 

 _Oh God_ , Harry thought, _I've fallen in love with them_.

 

 _After all this time. And all the love we already shared. I've now actually fallen in love with them!_

 

Harry was frozen to the spot. The surprise washed over him, tingling from his scalp to his toenails.

 

He was head over heels in love with his two best friends.

 

And they were looking at him.

 

Then at each other.

 

"All right there Harry?" said Ron, approaching him slowly.

 

"Are you ill? You weren't this pale a moment ago." Hermione asked walking more briskly over to feel his forehead.

 

"I love you." whispered Harry, to neither in particular.

 

Ron smiled, tilting his head to the side. He nodded slightly.

 

"We know."

"No. I love you. I'm ... I ...."

 

Hermione' took his face in her hands and looked into his eyes and frowned.

 

She turned to Ron, who was standing back slightly with his arms crossed in front of him.

 

"Spit it out, Harry. What's up?"

 

"Nothing."

  
"Harry!"

 

"No, really. That's just it. Nothing is wrong. I think... well... I think I might be ...... happy."

 

Harry looked down at his feet, noticing how green the grass was, longer than the Uncle Vernon ever let his lawn grow. The dew was soaking the edges of his slippers.  "I'm here in this beautiful home. Our home. My home. I'm not just 'the lodger'.  And Voldemort is gone. And Little Charlie is saying 'Good Morning' to the flowers, and we're having a baby, and I've fallen in love with the two of you."  


"You're in love with us?" asked Hermione.

  
"With the two of us?" repeated Ron.

 

"Yeah. Like butterflies in the stomach, checking out your arse when you bend over, can't stop touching you, hoping you think I'm pretty kind of in love."

 

Little Charlie giggled. "Harry said _arse._ "

 

"Charlotte," her mother said, "would you go and bring the sugar, sweetheart? Harry seems to have forgotten it."

 

Hermione turned back to face Harry. He felt her clutch his hand, and then a stronger, larger hand wrap around both.

 

And Harry realized then that they had always been together. Ever since First Year. He felt a foolish giggle rise in his throat. _Since that bloody troll._

 

Hermione sniffed. "Oh, Harry." She used her free hand to brusquely brush away a tear trickling down her cheek. "We could have lost this. We lost so much."

 

"But we didn't," he said, and wiped the other cheek. "And we won't. It's the three of us. Just like it's always been the three of us."

 

"You're sure," Ron said. And it wasn't a question.

 

Harry just smiled back at him, aware of a giddy lightness settling over his features. Ron looked from Hermione to Harry before throwing his head back and laughing. He wrapped a long arm around Hermione's shoulder, squeezed, and then bent down to capture Harry's lips in a kiss as he muttered,  "About bloody time."

 

Charlotte returned with the sugar and they sat down together to eat breakfast.

 

Soon they would face the world, and face public opinion over their family, their love, their children.

 

But for now they sat and ate, and drank and cried and laughed and talked about all that they had lost, and all that they had not lost.

 

 

 

  


  


  
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